


Five times Peter developed a new ability alone and one time he discovered a power with his family

by spiderboyneedsahug



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Aunt May deserves the world, Civil War Fix-It, He studies upside down sometimes and it never fails to terrify Tony, It's me back to do more MCU stuff, Maternal Aunt May, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Acts Like a Spider, Peter Parker Joins the Avengers, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Parker is a soft and good nerd who doesn't know what's happening to him, Peter Parker is adorably dumb sometimes, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Precious Peter Parker, The Avengers Are Good Bros, The Spidey Sense needs a lot of calibration, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony is basically Peter's surrogate dad, dad tony stark, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 08:53:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14398617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiderboyneedsahug/pseuds/spiderboyneedsahug
Summary: After the field trip to Oscorp and the spider bite, the only effect Peter experienced was a consistent, low grade fever.That changed on the third day, and so did everything else.Or, Peter was alone when most of his abilities developed. All but one.





	1. Enhanced Senses

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back! With Infinity War being released in four days, I decided to write as much Marvel as I can, and ignore any character deaths that happen in the movie itself!
> 
> This isn't denial, I swear.
> 
> Anyways, have some Peter Parker exploring his freaky new abilities!

It was the third day after the spider bite at Oscorp, and as far, everything was okay. Mostly. Maybe not.

 

He’d been a bit feverish ever since he came back from Oscorp, so May was keeping him out of school until it cleared up. Naturally, he protested loudly - (“I can’t make Ned take notes for me for so long! May!”) -but May didn’t have any of it. It had been boring for both days, even with Ben giving him some old books to read. He’d gone to sleep peacefully.

 

When Peter opened his eyes, he was greeted by the most painful, debilitating migraine he had ever experienced. The small lamp in the corner of his room blinded him, even when he looked away into the darkest corner he could find. The gentle sunlight he would have enjoyed four days before was way too bright for his tired eyes, so he hitched the comforter over his head and sighed wetly. There was no specific direction to the migraine; it ached all across his brain like he was being stabbed over and over. His eyes watered dangerously, his stomach in his throat.

 

And _sounds_ . Peter could hear everything way too loudly to be normal, and he hated it. His breathing, loud and echoing. Footsteps from far below him. The distant hum of a car engine. The scratching, abrasive sound of Peter’s own skin against his sheets. The occasional, deafeningly loud whimper that he accidentally let slip. It _hurt_ and he wanted it to just stop, so he could go back to sleep so it would go away.

 

Time passed, and other things reached his senses. The faint taste of the porridge May had before she left for work permeating the air. The powerful scent of a backfired car, and the cigarette smoke from the lady three floors beneath his apartment. The feeling of every individual fiber that made up his bedsheet and the scratchy cotton wool of his comforter. The input from just about every single one of his senses was too much, and the word _sensory overload_ came to mind.

 

Distantly, he was slightly confused as to why his senses had suddenly been dialled up so high all of a sudden; it couldn’t be normal. He’d read biological papers about abnormally good senses caused by genetic mutations, but none of it made sense. Why would everything be so _hellish_ all of a sudden? There was a brief thought in his head that _maybe it was the spider bite, Oscorp does genetic engineering, maybe you got a super disease from it_ but he quickly dismissed it as silly. Oscorp was a huge building. Why would one of their genetically altered specimens be so far away from its labs? And why would they genetically engineer a spider? Why would it give him any kind of disease at all? Peter knew he was overthinking it, but he also knew that whatever was wrong with him wasn’t normal. Maybe it was just flu...

 

The sounds from all around him became too loud as his head pounded painfully again, and he could do nothing more than curl into a tiny ball and hope for it to just be over. It just hurt so _bad_ , and Peter wanted it to just s _top_. The flu had never made him like this before… maybe it was an aggressive strain? He cried out as a sharp wave of discomfort ran across his entire body, settling in his stomach. Every inch of his body was chilling rapidly with cold sweat and trembles.

 

 _Shit_.

 

Peter fuzzily shot upright, crying out at the sudden brightness stabbing at his retinas, but launching out of bed anyways. His stomach was roiling as he whimpered at the sudden change of position. His legs were shaky, like he had just ran three consecutive marathons; it felt like he hadn’t eaten anything substantial in days, and now all that was left were quivering legs and nausea. Stumbling, he shuffled out of his room into the bathroom, using the nearby walls as support to his sweat-soaked and uncooperative body. Normally, he would have at least put on something more than just his boxers before leaving his room, but May was at work and it was too hot when he went to sleep for anything else. Now, soaked in sweat and trembling, he wished he was wearing something more.

 

He felt like roadkill, aching to hell and back.

 

Peter nearly leapt back when his overheated feet touched the cool marble of the bathroom floor; shivers going from minute trembles to seizure-level convulsions within less than a minute. Peter took three more steps into the room before his legs gave out and he fell down to the floor near the toilet. Saliva flooded his mouth, and he hardly managed to lift himself off the floor before he puked his guts out into the toilet. Every time he thought his stomach was empty and he could give no more, another bout of nausea forced him to spit out more bile. Warm tears were dripping down his face from the sheer strain of the white lights on his eyes, the burning in his throat and the sharp, stabbing pain in his abdomen.

 

It took about half an hour for him to recover from the episode, the vile and acrid scent of vomit wafting into his nose, suffocating him. Peter leant over and flushed the toilet before he flopped to the ground, boneless. The muscles in his core were cramping so painfully all he could do was cry silently and try to stop himself from shaking too hard, so he closed his eyes and let himself rest.

 

* * *

 

“Peter?” A door closed and a bag dropped to the ground.

 

He was so _cold_. His stomach ached.

 

“Peter, where are you?” Footsteps were coming closer to him, meeting his ears from down the hall. The painful scent of antiseptic hand gel met his nose.

 

Everything hurt, his throat burned, a foul taste pervaded his mouth.

 

“Are you okay?” The voice was nearby now, bouncing around off of walls and reaching his ears through what sounded like a cracked open door.

 

The voice was nearby now. He hoped it would help make him feel better.

 

“Peter- Oh, _shit_. Peter!” The door to the bathroom opened, and Peter felt the vibrations of someone stepping into the room.

 

“Don’t swear, May…” His voice was so gravelly. It hurt to use. May’s warm hands were on Peter’s shoulders, rolling him off his side onto his back. Her hands touched briefly on his forehead before she drew away, hissing.

 

“Oh my god, Peter. Baby, you’re so _pale_.” It hurt to hear so much pain in May’s voice, but he kept his eyes closed. He could still see the bathroom lights through his eyelids. May’s hands were under his torso, lifting him into a sitting position; it hurt his still-burning muscles to shift positions, but he didn’t fight it.

 

“Let’s get you back to your bedroom, okay? Can you do that?”

“I’ll try.”

 

Peter forced his legs to work as he stood. The world swayed around him; it all looked fuzzy and abstract, so he didn’t really notice as May slid her hands under his armpits to keep him upright.

 

“You’re so much lighter than normal, baby.” He didn’t _feel_ lighter. He felt leaden, too heavy and uncoordinated.

 

He stumbled a lot as May guided him back to his bedroom, sitting him down gently on his bed and lying the comforter over him. He would have been mortified by his unbalance, but he was too tired and hurt to really care much for anything. He was just about to close his eyes when he saw May about to leave. He reached an arm out and croaked, “Stay?”

 

May’s expression softened, “Go to sleep, Peter. I’ll stay here.”


	2. Enhanced strength, speed and agility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weirdly amazing senses weren't the only thing Peter got out of the spider bite.
> 
> Or, Peter struggles with suddenly having the strength of a jock when before he was as nerdy as nerd came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> asdfghjkl WRITING INTENSIFIES
> 
> I can't believe I cracked out more than 2,000 words in one day? Y'all are great!

It had taken just over a day for Peter’s new, still weirdly obnoxious senses to calm down, and another half an hour for him to collect the will to get back out of bed again. The cramping of nearly all the muscles across his body had left him exhausted for hours on end until he had slept, and after sleeping for so long, Peter felt better than he had been since the spider bite first happened.

 

If his sudden recovery from his violent sickness wasn’t good enough, it was even better that his senses had adapted to the bright and loud nature of Queens. Much to Peter’s delight, the light didn’t overwhelm him as easily as it did in the two previous days. The migraine had died down and his muscles stopped cramping, leaving behind a slight hunger and a great sense of restlessness. Peter was full of a type of energy he hadn’t felt in years, a weird and unprompted excitement. Maybe it was because his eyesight had apparently improved. He could see his entire room in a quality of sight he hadn’t experienced before in his life, and the old glasses at his bedside looked abandoned.

 

It wasn’t just his ability to see that had calibrated properly now — his hearing too. He still could hear everything in amazing detail, but it no longer felt like somebody was punching him in the head every single time he heard something. It was weird to be able to hear what was happening in the apartments below him and even in the streets, but it was awesome, when he thought about it. His senses got dialled up to eleven because of what? The flu? A spider bite? His Parker Luck had given him something good to counteract all the bad, at least.

 

Yawning, Peter sat upright in his bed and swung his legs over onto the ground. It felt like a warm day outside if the lack of chills were anything to go by, the comforter falling from his shoulders as he stretched his arms. The carpet felt odd beneath his feet but not unnatural, and he reveled in the sensation of feeling okay again. Peter stood and stretched his legs, reaching down to touch the floor before coming back upright.

 

He nearly choked when he caught his reflection in the mirror. He expected to be pale after ill for so long, but to see… muscle?

 

He sat back down. He could see his bewildered expression in the mirror; it would have been funny if he wasn’t so surprised. Muscle? Where…?

 

Okay… Something was definitely up. Peter ran his fingers over the muscles. It wasn’t like he was particularly big before, if anything he was skinny, but it made no sense that he got bit by a spider, got ill, and suddenly had defined muscle tone.

“What the hell…?”

 

Maybe the intense cramping he had was linked to the sudden gain in muscle mass. It made no sense that his muscles would fall into a persistent state of hypertrophy unprompted, but it was the only theory he would think of at the minute. Besides, he’d been bitten by a spider in the building of a company famous for their genetic experiments. Weird stuff is probably normal, right?

 

Peter flopped back down onto his bed. This was just another huge, random, bizarre occurrence in his weird life. He could work around it. He was starting to suspect that the spider that bit him wasn’t just a normal, un-genetically modified spider. But if it was an enhanced one… what else would it do to him? Peter shuddered at the thought. He _really_ didn’t want to do other spidery things… like eating flies. That would just be disgusting.

 

With a loud groan, Peter stood upright, steadfastly ignoring his reflection, and moved to pick up the glass of water on his bedside next to his now-useless glasses. His fingers wound around the glass and he moved to sip from it, only stopping to look at the spider webbing cracks across its surface. The minute cracks spread the longer Peter held it, so he quickly slammed the glass down on his desk, causing it to shatter. Peter winced — May was going to kill him for breaking one of her glasses.

 

He spent about five minutes staring at his hand after that. He somehow managed to crush a glass without even trying to?

 

Nothing about this made any sense!

 

Frustrated, Peter pulled some casual clothes on and left his room. He’d tell May about the glass when he saw her. He walked into the bathroom and brushed his teeth, ignoring the memory of his rather violent… _episode_ a day and a half ago. He felt cleaner afterwards, and it brought another small piece of normalcy to Peter’s rapidly unfurling normal world.

 

He walked down the hall into the living area. May was at the stove waving her hand to disperse a light gray colored smoke, but her face still lit up when she saw him.

“Hey, May.”

“Peter!” May abandoned the stove in favour of smoothing down Peter’s errant hair down, “Are you sure you want to go in to school today? You were so _ill_ yesterday, I don’t want you pushing yourself too hard. Ben can take care of you today if you want to stay here again, I've got to work at 10:30. Ben needs to take holiday hours soon anyways, you two can relax and watch movies if you want.” As tempting as spending a day watching movies with his Uncle sounded, he had to get back to school soon. He just felt so  _restless._

“May! I’ll be fine, trust me. I feel lots better today, I promise.” He laughed. May had always been so protective of him, especially after his parents…

 

He sat down on the couch.

“I didn’t want you eating something too heavy, and I burned what I had in the oven, so here you go,” May handed him some cereal, “Gourmet.” Peter snorted and started eating the cereal. He grabbed a glass on the table, making his grip so loose he feared he’d drop it.

 

The glass stayed in his hand, and it didn’t crack either. He could feel that his fingers were sweating as he sipped the water — the newfound strength he possessed was terrifying. Would he tell May and Ben about everything new? Or would it be better to keep it secret until he knew more about it... 

 

He was about half way into the bowl when he remembered the other, shattered glass in his room.

“Uh, May?” Peter called. May turned and hummed.

“I, uh, I dropped the glass. The one that was on my bedside. My hands were shaking, and I-”

“Peter. It’s just a glass, it’s okay. Now eat up, you can’t be late for school on your first day back.” Peter shook his head and laughed. When did he do something good enough to have May care so much for him?

 

Peter absently looked at the time on his watch — _7:46_.

 

_Late._

 

Eyes wide, Peter shovelled the rest of the cereal down and put the bowl at the sink, grabbing his bag.

“May, I’m late! I gotta go!”

May hugged him quickly and squeezed his shoulder.

“If you start feeling bad again, you come home. No arguments.”

“Okay, Aunt May,” Peter stepped out of the door to their apartment, “Larb you!” He caught May’s chuckle before he broke into a jog towards the lift.

 

Time couldn’t seem to go fast enough as the lift opened again at the bottom floor. Peter broke into a sprint out of the building, only narrowly avoiding people as he ran. He checked his watch again, wincing at the display reading of _7:51._

 

He had just under ten minutes to cross a mile of walk.

 

Peter pushed himself harder, forcing his legs to work faster. To his surprise, they did.

“ _Shit_! Sorry, lady!” Normally, Peter would have helped the lady pick her things up, but he was late enough as it was and the adrenaline thrumming through him insisted that he kept running. The rhythmic pounding of his feet against the sidewalk was weirdly easy and fast — he wondered if it was another side effect of the spider bite, because he was never a distance runner before it happened and the speed at which he was travelling was bordering on unnatural.

 

Once again, he wasn’t complaining. His senses and his unusual speed worked in perfect harmony, informing him before reflex that he needed to _sharp left to avoid that guy, wide right to avoid that family_. The scenery of Queens faded away into background information as his feet slammed against the floor. The thrill of running was almost intoxicating to Peter, an excited grin coming to his face as he checked the time again. _7:57_. His bag weighed almost nothing on his back and his breaths came easy, as if he wasn’t defying just about every rule biology had set for him.

 

Peter saw his school in the distance and let himself reach a more natural feeling sprint, quickly joining the hordes of exhausted teens as they entered the imposing school building. Peter made up his mind — that spider bite had been awesome. He never would have been able to run the _whole_ distance beforehand, and here he was now, hardly even feeling it!

 

By the time he arrived at his class, he was slightly out of breath, and it was only _8:01_. He didn’t think the spider bite would have stopped him from being late, but then again he didn’t expect physical improvements from it either. He settled next to Ned in class, offering his friend a cheeky grin.

Ned looked around discreetly before hushedly whispering to Peter, “Hey man, you feeling better now?”

“Definitely. I haven’t felt this good in a while.” Peter whispered back with a wide beaming smile. It was true; he hadn’t felt this comfortable in himself in a while.

“Note sharing and LEGO death star after school?”

Peter shared a look with Ned, “Definitely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a PSA for those who don't know, but hypertrophy is where your muscles get real big when you exercise them — basically the normal and healthy state of muscular growth after exercise tears the tissue and it gets bigger!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!!
> 
> NOTE: 23|04|18 -- I've edited the chapter due to kind reader letting me know about the canon surrounding Ben's death, so voila! Ben is still alive at this point in the development of Peter's abilities.


	3. Enhanced healing factor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things have been pretty rough for Peter ever since they lost Ben. All of a sudden, his gifts seem like less of a blessing and more of a curse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> asdfghjkl I really had to push myself to post this one... I'm so tired...
> 
> But I hope you enjoy it!

The view outside the classroom window was gray. Dull. Void of life.  _ Empty _ .

 

He could hear the teacher drone on, could see blurred hands rising up to answer what was presumably a question about… whatever it was they were learning. His textbook lay open, his pen abandoned on the desk as he stared out the window into the endless abyss of nothing. He could  _ feel _ Ned looking at him from where he was across the class. He didn’t turn to face him through, but continued gazing into the empty space. 

 

A constant nausea churned in his chest, heavy and painful and a reminder of just how much he messed up. He gnawed absently at his cheek, tasting the sharp tang of blood exploding across his taste buds. He didn’t stop, either. The throbbing, stabbing pain was a steady reminder that he was alive, his heart was still beating and he was here.

 

It had been just under five days since… well, since he had inadvertently caused Uncle Ben’s death. Put simply, coldly, and clinically. Peter killed his Uncle, accidentally or not. 

 

He just felt so empty. Hollow. May had been grieving her loss, taking the time to wade through her sadness and anger. Peter, however… well, he’d thrown himself back into his schoolwork with crazed fervour, drowning out all and any emotions that would threaten to come up. The world felt slower and duller. Less exciting, more lonely. Normally exciting work in school had become episodic and boring, all and any interest he had in any subject falling behind the depressive haze of… of pain, guilt and sadness in his mind.

 

His enhanced hearing instantly caught the hoarse rattle of a chesty cough as some kid raised their hand to catch it. He tried to shove down the inevitable burst of nausea that arose at the involuntary use of his abilities, but it came to anyway with a slow paling of Peter’s skin. Being able to hear everything, to see what normal people couldn’t… it had become more of a curse than a blessing. Ever since… He came to dislike his abilities quickly after that night. They reminded him of his failure, of his idiocy killing Ben. He was equipped with superhuman strength and speed, but he couldn’t do anything but stare in horror as the bullet moved towards him. Then Ben threw himself in front of Peter, a human shield… He swiped away some rogue tears. He doesn’t want to remember.

  
  


Peter was dragged back to reality from his thoughts as a loud bang sounded across the classroom. Something must have fallen to the floor, probably a phone from someone’s pocket, but it was still too familiar-

 

Peter stiffened, muscles involuntarily contracting in response to the sound. The underwater-sounding noises were drowned out completely and the dull decor of the classroom faded out. Too similar, it was too similar to  _ then _ and the echoing of the bang resounded in his head- 

 

- _ Blood under his hands, the horrifyingly unstable sound of an erratic heartbeat, the feeling of an artery spurting blood everywhere- _

 

He put his head in his hands and rested it against the desk, ignoring the alarmed look Ned was giving him. The room felt too small, like there wasn’t enough oxygen to go around. His chest burned and his saliva felt too thick, like it would choke him. The urge to cry or to scream became a heavy weight in his lungs, gripping tight and not letting go.

 

- _ Deafeningly loud police sirens shattering the silence, hot tears starting to run down his face, can’t see him, can’t see him- _

 

The world was growing too loud, too painful, it hurt. Everything was too loud, too bright, too overpowering even with his head down and his arms covering his ears. He wanted to go back, he wanted to go back, he had to save him.

 

_ -The grief chokes him, flames that burn like self-hatred coursing through his veins as he tries to shake the man back to awareness. It never works, he doesn’t wake up, he’s  _ gone _ - _

 

Sounds were all too loud. The kid next to him breathing. The clock ticking. The scratching of a person's nails against the fabric of their trousers. Too much. Too much. The classroom lights were blinding, even with his eyes closed and his head buried in his hands.

 

_ -Should have just taken his damned headphones out, then Ben would be okay. He could have dodged the bullet if he had heard the gunshot but he didn’t and it’s his fault that Ben is dying- _

  
  


The school bell went off, deafeningly loud, but Peter was thankful for the distraction from his thoughts. He stuffed his textbook and pen back into his bag and pulled his phone and headphones out, hastily shoving one in his ear. Anything to distract his errant thoughts. He was nearly out the classroom door when an hand wrapped around his arm, keeping him back. Peter sighed and turned around, blinking in surprise when Ned’s face met his instead of the teachers.

“Hey, man. Wanna come round mine?” Peter didn’t miss the quiet, comforting tone in Ned’s voice. He felt a little bad about that, actually; Ned had done nothing more than want to be there for Peter, but Peter didn’t want to burden anyone with his problems. Ned must have been feeling terrible because all he could do was offer support and Peter had been turning it down at every corner. It wasn’t Ned’s fault that Peter had shut himself off to everyone. 

  
  


He couldn’t burden anyone else with himself. 

  
  


“Sorry, Ned. I gotta get home to May. Family and all that.” Peter’s voice was quiet; a subtle attempt to stop any emotions from showing through his voice. To be honest, the only thoughts that had been in Peter’s head since the incident were linked to Ben, so Ned had probably grown used to Peter’s uncharacteristic catatonic silence. Ned nodded his head slightly, squeezing Peter’s arm reassuringly. 

“Yeah. See you tomorrow, man.”

“See you then.” 

 

He hated how he would feel eyes on him as he walked the hallway towards the exit. Too much  _ pity _ . He didn’t deserve pity; he had gotten a man killed. It was his fault. 

 

He kept his head down the whole walk out of the school. 

 

Peter took the longer route home. It wasn’t anything new, but given the recent emptiness in the apartment… he wanted to minimize the amount of time he had to spend there. The streets of New York were so unbearably loud to his ears anyway, so the quieter route had become his favourite. The music softly playing into one of his ears provided a decent distraction from his thoughts. A few days ago, Peter might have worn both headphones in while he walked, but it just blocked out too much sound. A small part of his brain had decided that he  _ had to _ be able to at least half-hear what was happening around him.

 

He was about half way through his walk back home when he heard quiet shouting and a crash. Peter froze up. Listening more closely revealed that two people were arguing. One sounded genuinely scared, and the other was shouting gutturally. 

 

He had to battle with himself for a few minutes. The small, scared part of him just wanted to go home anyways, but the part of him that had become more prominent since Ben’s death demanded he go over there and help (he had a feeling that it was because he couldn’t save Ben, so he wanted to save whoever else he could).

 

Against his better reasoning, he was running towards the sounds of violence before he could make his mind up on it. Peter cursed as he ran. He twisted through alleyways, only narrowly avoiding walls and bins, before the noises sounded close enough to be around the next corner.

 

Peter poked his head round to see.

 

A woman, well-off and maybe in her thirties, was being forced into a corner by a guy dressed in black, holding a knife. Momentarily, he was thankful that it wasn’t a gun, but he came back to when the guy shouted again. The lady was starting to cry, obviously in incredible distress, and Peter’s gut wrenched painfully. The urge to step in and help was becoming painfully hard to ignore as he watched the situation unfold. He had super powers! He had the strength and speed to fight the guy off, even if he had never thrown a punch before, so why wasn’t he? 

 

His chest tightened painfully. He hadn’t stepped in already because what? He was scared? Peter forced himself to look at the lady again, at her terrified expression.  _ She _ was scared. She needed help. Nobody else was around, and Peter was already there and able-bodied. A wave of determination strengthened Peter’s resolve. 

 

_ With great power comes great responsibility. _ Peter had the power to step in and help. Peter had the power to allow that lady to go home to her family instead of getting mugged and bleeding out in an alley. He had the  _ power _ to help, so he had the  _ responsibility _ to help. This time he help someone return to their family, the people who loved them.

 

He couldn’t be a bystander anymore.

 

As stealthily as he could, he hid his school bag behind a bin and took off his headphones. Anxiety was starting to bubble up in his stomach, adrenaline making his legs shaky, but he still took small, silent steps forward.

 

_ You can do it you can do it you have to help her you can do it- _

 

Peter gritted his teeth and launched himself around the corner, quickly landing a hard punch to the guy’s wrist. The guy dropped the knife and cursed, holding his damaged limb close to his chest before turning around. The lady was staring at him, eyes wide with shock. Peter swiftly kicked the knife underneath one of the nearby dumpsters. The guy was hissing in pain, clutching his wrist still, and a bizarre urge to apologise bubbled up in Peter’s chest.

“I- I didn’t mean to hit so hard. Are you okay-” The guy threw a punch meant to hit his face, but it was sloppy and slow and easy to dodge under. Peter bit his cheek. He didn’t even know how to fight off a well-meaning person his age, let alone a man who was taller, angrier and older than him. 

 

The guys attacks were uncoordinated and sluggish, obviously driven out of rage. Mindless. Adrenaline slipped into Peter’s mind and body, momentarily clearing away the depressive fog as he dodged punches and the occasional kick. He stayed on the defensive for the most part; he didn’t want to cause more damage to the guy than necessary. He still didn’t know the bounds of his strength and he wasn’t interested in finding out on another living being.

 

A blunt impact to his chest forced him backwards. The air had been knocked out of his lungs and it left him wheezing, casting half a glare at the guy. The guy’s fist swung into his cheek and hit home. Peter froze, temporarily stunned. His eyes narrowed as he tasted the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. Anger boiled up in his veins as he caught sight of the woman’s terrified expression.  _ Who did this guy think he was…? _

 

A bitter taste rose in his mouth. He’d had enough of criminals terrorizing the innocent. Peter scowled a little as the mugger shook his head and prepared to attack again. He didn’t consciously think about kicking the guy’s shin as he attempted to rush Peter and just did it, sending him sprawling to the floor. Peter could tell by the way the man was breathing that he was just unconscious, so he busied himself with picking the woman’s stuff from the floor and handing it back to her.

“Are you okay?” He could hear how breathy and tired his voice was. The adrenaline had faded, leaving behind shaky limbs and a sensation of sickness in his gut.

“Thank you so much. Thank you.” She sounded close to tears again as she spoke, eyes closed. Something small and warm blossomed inside of Peter’s chest. It lifted a pressure that he hadn’t even known had been inside him.

 

“C’mon, lady. You should go back home or something.” He resolutely ignored how both of their hands were shaking, even as he escorted the lady towards the mouth of the alley onto the main road. He waited until he couldn’t see her anymore before he ran back into the alley to grab his bag, slinging it over his shoulder with a wince. The numerous aches from the punches he took were starting to make themselves known, especially on his face and ribs. May would be so upset to see the bruises.

 

His chest was tight as he looked at the unconscious criminal. He…  _ He _ did that. He saved someone. He faintly caught sight of the mess of bruising on his face in the reflection of a trash can lid with a wince. There were mottled purple and black bruises marring his cheeks and eyes. May would  _ not _ be happy. 

 

He turned back out of the alley after making sure the guy  _ was _ actually still breathing and continued his walk back to the apartment, ignoring the steady and aching pain across his body.

 

He firmly ignored the incredulous looks he got from passers-by as he walked down streets and through alleys. He was very aware of the bruises on his face, thank you very much, and he did not need the stares he got. He knew he could have just gotten the subway back from school, but with how close everyone was together, the barrage of sounds and smells and his new senses… Until he got more used to everything, he’d just walk. It wasn’t that long a walk anyway.

 

It didn’t take too long, even at a slow pace, for the more familiar buildings of Queens to come into sight. Muscle memory took over as he made his way down the streets, mind absent as he dodged more oncoming people. The apartment complex he lived in came into sight too quickly, even when he tried to slow his pace down. With a quiet sigh of dread, Peter walked into the building.

 

As soon as he stepped in the door he had wrapped his arms around May.

“Hey, baby. How was school?” It hurt Peter’s heart to hear May’s usually so energetic voice so quiet. The subtle shaking of May’s voice was a dead giveaway that she had been crying recently, a thought which drove what felt like a stake into his heart. There was a small nagging thought at the back of his head that reminded him of the bruises he had from the fight, slightly confused as to why May hadn’t brought them up yet, but he pushed it aside in favour of taking a deep inhale of May’s perfumed scent. He could feel himself relax slightly as the familiar smell met his brain. It was a habit that had cropped up after his senses were dialled up and it was one he had yet to shake.

“It was okay. How have you been?”

“I’m… doing as well as I can do.”

 

May had been off work since the incident, in the apartment. Alone. With Ben’s things.  _ God _ , it must have been terrible for her. What right did he have to be so upset about the loss of Ben when May had it so, so much worse? Why did he deserve to be upset when it was his fault? May was the one who had been left all alone to take care of Peter, so why did he deserve to be so upset about it? The heavy feeling from earlier came back into his lungs, choking him.

 

The apartment was just as quiet as he dreaded it would be. The absence of Ben’s warmth and liveliness was startlingly apparent. Peter had never thought the lack of one person could do so much, but he had been wrong before.

  
  


His eyes filled with tears and the small whisper of   _ “I’m so sorry.”  _ left him before he could stop it. May’s hold on him tightened just a little bit more; her hands coming up to smooth down his hair. His chest tightened with the beginning of trembling sobs.

“Peter… It wasn’t your fault. Baby, it wasn’t your fault. I know it and Ben- Ben would never hold it against you. He loved you, Peter.” He knew May’s words were well-meaning, but hearing someone else reaffirm Ben’s love for him only made the stabbing pain in his chest worse. Ben loved him and Peter repaid him by getting him killed.  _ God _ , he messed up so bad-

“I just… I can’t. I’m so sorry.”

“Come on. Put your stuff in your room, we’ll watch a movie on the couch, okay?”

“Okay- Okay. Okay.” It took a few more seconds for Peter to regain his wits enough to move again, reluctantly shuffling away from May and towards his room. He tossed his bag onto his bed and slipped off his jacket before he remembered the bruises. He frowned. Surely May would have noticed them. He had been black and blue for god’s sake!

 

He walked into the bathroom and clicked on the lights. A flush of confusion, shock and slight relief rose up in his chest when he saw the complete lack of bruises on his face in the mirror. What used to be black and blue had returned to a normal colour, if a little pale. He gingerly prodded his cheek, eyebrows furrowing at the lack of pained sensation. He had been bruised when he left the alley, he knew that. So where…?

 

Peter hitched up his sleeve and pinched his arm, hard. His eyes watered a little at the sudden ache but he stared at where he had pinched until the bruise started to form within a few seconds. It was a pink-red colour for all of a few minutes before it slowly shifted to a darker colour, the same blue-black colour he had been decorated with when he left the alleyway. It was with a sort of morbid fascination that he watched the bruise fade to a green colour, then to a yellow, then fading completely.

 

Within the span of about seven minutes. 

 

Yeah, that spider bite was definitely  _ not _ a normal spider bite.

 

He shook his head in a pitiful attempt to shake off his dazed shock and left the bathroom, closing the door to his bedroom before trudging to the apartment’s living area. May was waiting for him on the couch with a pile of blankets, eyes painfully sad but warm at the same time. He settled into May’s side, reassured by the comforting warmth radiating from her. The quiet muttering from the television was just enough to occupy Peter’s sense of hearing without being too painful; something he was pretty grateful for. There had been far too much pain in the past few days. 

 

He didn’t know how much time they spent there, on the couch and swaddled in blankets, before he fell asleep against May’s side, their fingers still interlocked. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of this is based off personal experiences with grief, except I don't get a healing factor. RIP me. I'm still not quite sure about this chapter because, y'know, feelings, but tell me how I did in the comments? I didn't write the actual death scene because it's been done so. Many. Times. In the movies. I might do a stand-alone one shot on it at some point. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter!!
> 
> Also, a thing: Does anyone want more chapters after the main six, maybe Tony seeing how the powers can affect Peter sometimes?


	4. Sticking to walls, climbing with ease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Improved senses, becoming stronger and faster, healing quicker... They're all cool abilities, don't get him wrong, but he got them from a spider. So where were all the spidery abilities?
> 
> Guess he's about to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, after such a popular response to my previous question, I will be going ahead with the extra chapters once I've finished the main six! You guys really wanna see more, huh?
> 
> But yeah, have one Peter Parker become the Sticky Boi we all know and we all love!

A cold breeze raked through the alley, forcing a shiver down his spine. It was dark out, the distant sound of Queens’ nightlife reaching his ears through the seemingly impenetrable blackness of the night. He tugged up the red material of his hoodie. Peter looked at the mask for a few seconds before tugging it on, sighing with relief as the eye lenses did their job and dampened his eyesight to a more manageable level.

 

He’d only had the fully assembled costume for a few days now, but he was proud of it. It wasn’t much more than some of the spare clothes he had lying around the apartment, but with some creative design and stealthy use of the equipment at the robotics club at school, he finally got the whole costume together. The eye lenses on the mask were what he was most proud of though — it had taken so many attempts to get them to react to the widening and squinting of his own eyes. They were a necessary addition, though, seeing as the amount of input he received when he was stressed was enough to give him a migraine worse than the one he got after the bite. But the costume had been necessary to make if he was going to go out at night fighting people as an enhanced vigilante. He couldn’t have those people remember his face after he took them out and come for him or May.

 

Ever since that afternoon where he saved the lady, a small part of him had been dying to go back out into the world to help people, and not in the charity worker kind of way. It wasn’t that hard to find another person who needed to get away from a mugger. He had a nagging thought that his main motivation for helping people was because of his inability to save Ben when he could have. It had also become a way to help relieve the restlessness that had settled into his veins when he wasn’t distracted.

 

It had become a every-other-nightly thing, to go out and try to help who he could. He couldn’t really go much further than this small part of Queens without a faster mode of transportation, which sucked, but until he had a better way of getting around he could stick to being a local… crime-fighter? Is that what he was?

 

It would be so awesome if he could go around via web, like those little drifting spiders. Peter’s eyes widened a little as he committed that thought to memory — it couldn’t be _that_ hard to create a compound that could do that. It would have to be inorganic so it didn’t decay too fast… Then again, a biological compound might be more durable. Needs a high tensile strength, for sure, unless he wanted it to snap and then to go _splat_ against the ground. He shook his head. He can work through the science of that later. First, he had to listen out for any disturbances.

 

Hence, sat on top of a dumpster in a dark alley in a garishly bright and attention-drawing costume.

 

Maybe two hours into his ‘patrol’, he decided it sounded like it was going to be a good night. He slumped back against the wall, shuddering as a small breeze dragged against his neck. The hoodie and mask provided… _okay_ protection against the wind chill, but it was a first model and it did have it’s weaknesses. _And_ his skin had been really hypersensitive over the past few days, to the point where he could detect vibrations and temperature changes so easily it felt like second nature, so the breeze touching his neck was a sensation not unlike being dunked in ice water.

 

Peter sighed, rolling his head around and looking around the empty alley. The shadows made it pretty hard to see further than a few meters, but he could still hear pretty well. Distant, quiet chattering from the streets. The gentle purring of car engines and the messy cacophony of footsteps bouncing off the alley walls, but not approaching.

 

Instead of letting himself get a headache by focusing too much on sounds, he honed in on the sensations of the costume on his skin. His fingertips were a little cold, but the gloves on his palm were doing a good job at keeping his hands warm. The fabric felt nice against his skin, soft and worn. It didn’t scratch his skin like new clothes do. He was just looking at his shoes when his eyes caught on to something.

 

There was a small, loose thread on one of his trousers’ legs. His eyes narrowed as he stood up, balancing awkwardly atop the dumpster as he rested one hand against the wall for stability. He wrapped his finger around the thread and tugged at it, a feeling of satisfaction in his chest as it snapped off without further damaging the suit. He’d only had it for a few days, so it would _really_ suck if it started showing loose threads so early on. He didn’t have the money to replace any parts of the suit.

 

He let the string fall to the surface of the dumpster, the thin red quickly disappearing into the darkness. He hummed a song quietly, enjoying the way it blocked out the surrounding silence. Brushing himself off, he dropped back down onto the top of the dumpster-

 

His shoulder awkwardly contorted as he fell, his hand stuck firmly to the wall.

“Okay, ow ow _ow_ -“ Peter hastily stood back up, wincing as his shoulder gave a stab of pain in protest. His palm was stuck to the wall, not budging an inch as he tried to pull it back. He couldn’t _see_ anything that would make stick him to the wall like he was.

 

He frowned. He pulled at the limb again, only to receive the same lack of results. Come on, he had _super strength_ ! What kind of adhesive could keep him stuck to an _alley wall_ of all places? Who puts glue on a wall, anyway?

 

He must look so stupid right now, dressed in such ridiculous colours and trying to pull his _stuck hand_ off a wall. _Really_ pulled off the ‘take no crap, crime fighting superhero’ look. If someone came along now, he’d die of embarrassment on the spot.

 

He rested his other hand against the wall and tugged harder, gritting his teeth at the straining sensation in the muscles of his arms. He kept trying until his shoulder started to feel slightly displaced before giving up with a scowl. Peter groaned in frustration and tried to take a step back.

 

Tried.

 

His other hand wouldn’t come off the wall now, either. Peter narrowed his eyes in annoyance. _What the hell-?_ He was more than a little confused — it didn’t make sense. He’d come out to fight muggers, and now his hands were stuck to a _wall_.

 

Well, it wasn’t like he was going to be doing anything else for a while. Peter gritted his teeth, trying to think of a way to get his hands off the wall.

 

His legs. They were much stronger than his arms, so there was a slim chance he might have been able to push off the wall using his stronger limbs. Given how firmly stuck both of his hands seemed to be to the wall, the only thing he’d get from using his legs to push himself off the wall would be a few bruises.

 

He rested one foot against the wall and straightened out his body as much as possible before resting the next one on it too. He made sure to shift his weight carefully so it wasn’t pushing downwards.

 

He really hoped that nobody was seeing this. It was embarrassing enough to be glued to a wall by his hands, and it would be mortifying if anyone came along now. He was slightly curious too — whatever was keeping him stuck to the wall was _strong_.

 

He straightened out his body as much as he could, the muscles in his shoulders pulling uncomfortably. He kept it up for a few minutes before giving up on trying to pull his hands off the wall.

 

It was with a hysterical bubble of laughter that he found his legs weren’t coming off either, which left him stranded off the ground and stuck.

“Oh, man. What…?” He tapped his head against the wall in frustration, a guttural groan escaping him. He turned his head and looked around the alley.

 

It was weird, from off the ground. Everything felt different on the wall, maybe even more natural.

 

_More natural…?_

 

Spider bite. Spiders. Climbing walls. Being stuck.

“Oh my god, _really_?!”

 

It would be cool, being able to stick to walls, if he weren’t in a back alley in a flashy costume. His limbs wouldn’t come off enough for him to be able to climb up or down. If someone had told him a few weeks ago that he’d be fighting crime out of what he knew was a misplaced sense of guilt turned feeling of obligation, dressed up like a wannabe-superhero and stuck to a wall, he probably… He doesn’t even know.

 

He tried to force himself to recall what he had researched about spiders after the bite. They can produce biological gossamer threads that could stop a plane if they were the thickness of a _pencil_. He wasn’t sure if the bio-webbing was a trait he’d develop at some point, and he wasn’t sure if it’d be something he’d be okay with. Didn’t explain why he was stuck.

 

A few more useless facts travelled through his head before something _relevant_ came to him. _All_ spiders, including the one that bit him, have microscopic hairs across their entire bodies that allow them to stick to surfaces with ease. He got bit by a spider. He was pretty sure at this point that the spider’s DNA had messed up his own, so maybe…?

 

Climbing was instinctual for spiders, and the whole sticking-to-walls thing wasn’t something they could turn off. But Peter was different to a spider. Smarter. He took a deep breath in to psych himself up, rolling his shoulders.

 

“Ooookay…. I can do this. C’mon.”

 

He willed his hand to come off the wall, and to his surprise, it did. The other three remained firmly planted on the wall, but his left hand was free to move. He curled his hand into a fist experimentally, the suit’s eye lenses wide and curious. It was weird to be so high up. A part of him wanted to test… whatever ability this was, to climb up even higher, but the rest of him wanted to be back on the ground. Safely.

 

He willed the rest of his limbs to come off the wall and roughly landed on his feet, hissing a little as his ankle made its protests known. Of course he could still twist his ankle. He slid off the dumpster onto the alley’s floor, staring up at where he had been on the wall — it was pretty high up, actually, and looking up at where he was forced a small shudder up his spine.

 

He flopped down onto the cold ground, wincing at the dull ache from impacting the floor. His thoughts were absent, abstract, as if his brain had yet to process what had just happened. Most of his enhancements so far had been _minor_ , typical of a superhero. Run-of-the-mill. But now, with the sticking to the walls thing? That was _unique_. He hadn’t heard of any superhero who could do that. Captain America couldn’t do that. Johnny Storm couldn’t do that. Tony Stark could build something that could climb walls, given time.

 

Maybe he could be a hero, someday.

 

But he had to test it. It almost definitely wasn’t a fluke, but it would do no harm to test the limits of this new ability. He stood up and dusted the suit off, walking over to the wall of an apartment building. He rested his fingertips against the bricks, marvelling at the subtle vibrations he could sense from within the building. He frowned when his fingers trailed down the brickwork like a normal person’s hand would, but he didn’t let it deter him. Maybe he needed to want it to stick again…?

 

It took a few attempts, but his fingers adhered to the walls after a few minutes of aimlessly slapping it. It was with a lot less hesitance than before that he rested his other palm against the wall, then his legs. It was a lot less frightening now that he knew he could climb back down, and a lot more exciting as a result. Peter kept his body close to the surface of the wall, revelling in the way it seemed like gravity had abandoned him. The familiar buzzing energy of exhilaration replaced whatever tiredness had been left in him.

“Okay, it’s just like climbing a tree. A sheer tree. A building. Okay. Uh.” The mask muffled his voice a little, but he could still catch the breathless undertone.

 

Peter lifted one of his hands and rested it higher up on the wall, made sure it was secure, and pulled himself up.

“Holy crap…”

 

He took a few minutes to gather himself, looking down on the alleyway. It all looked so small from where he was.

Slowly and carefully, Peter inched his way up the wall. The apartment building wasn’t that tall, maybe three or four stories high, but it still took a long time to surpass even the second floor.

 

The lights of Queens’ streets and shops were beautiful. As soon as he could see over the tops of the buildings, his breath had been stolen by the aerial view he had been given. It was like a new world, colours exploding across his vision as the breeze ruffled the fabric of his hood. The angle was starting to hurt his neck.

 

Hesitantly, Peter rotated his body so his back rested against the wall. It was scary, being up so high. He could swear his heart stopped when his foot slipped a little bit.

 

He tore off the mask to see everything just that little bit better, laughing breathily at the multitude of lights and sensations that washed over him. He could see the faint structure and bluish tinge of Stark Tower from where he was, other multicoloured lights washing over the skyscrapers of NYC. The world seemed so… huge. Indomitable. _Challenging_ . But it was beautiful, and it _gave_. It gave Peter his powers, it gave people the intelligence to make such amazing things.

 

He fingered at the material of his mask, staring down at the red fabric with a indecipherable sensation bubbling up in his chest. He hadn’t fought anyone tonight, but being out there felt so natural. It was with reluctance that he continued to scale the apartment building’s walls, approaching the top with little difficulty.

 

As soon as his fingers reached over the top of the walls he pulled himself over, flopping heavily onto the gravel. He stared up at the clouds, mask still in hand, and sighed a breath of content. He didn’t know how long he spent there, staring aimlessly up into the nothing, before he sat back up and ran a hand through his hair. He pulled a face when his fingertips brushed against some gravel.

 

Enhanced senses, enhanced strength, enhanced healing, sticking to walls…

 

Peter laughed.

“I swear to god, if eating flies is next I’m gonna lose it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this chapter! Tell me what you thought of it down below, I'll be sure to respond to anything you gotta ask! And leave prompts for other stories if you want to! I'd love to hear what you guys want written!
> 
> Thanks for reading, hope y'all have a good day / night!


	5. Faster metabolism, higher calorific intake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faster healing and stronger muscles don't come for free. All good things have their drawback, and Peter is about to discover his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys all leave such nice comments... I love going through them. It really makes my day :) <3
> 
> Only one more chapter along the main story line left now, then the six extra chapters!
> 
> There might be a little delay between this chapter and the next one, because I'll be on holiday and unable to post, but I'll work on the chapters while I'm away so I can do a mass posting when I come back (hopefully for both this story and my other ones).

When Peter woke up, it was to the gnawing sensation of hunger in his stomach that he had become regrettably used to over the past two days. With Ben being gone, and May having only just gone back to work, they had become very short on money.

 

Which meant that Peter could hardly eat anymore. Well he could, but then they wouldn’t be able to pay rent that month. The money they did have had to go around so many things that what little food they did have _had_ to go around. So Peter had eaten so little that it had basically meant nothing at all. All the meals Peter and May had eaten had been so incredibly mismatched in their attempts to make every single ingredient go around.

 

It was clear that neither of them were used to living on just one paycheck. The wave of dizziness that struck Peter so hard he nearly fell over when he stood up was a testament to that. Every footstep he took sent a shockwave of nausea bubbling through him. He had a feeling that the rate at which he healed was connected to how much food his body suddenly needed to feel okay. It made sense. His metabolic rate had been increased when the spider bit him. His cells expended more energy than a normal human so he could be stronger, quicker and heal faster than them, but that energy had to come from somewhere, hence eating more. Biologically, it made sense.

 

Didn’t stop it from being a huge pain and a massive inconvenience.

 

By the time he had managed to walk downstairs, he was already well on his way to being late to school. He only had time to grab a piece of cold toast before he was out the door, yelling a hasty goodbye to May before breaking into a light jog. The toast was gone within seconds, and the gnawing ache in his stomach hadn’t left in the slightest.

 

The entire walk to his school, the nausea plagued him. Despite having worn a hoodie on top of his shirt, he was still chilled by the cold breeze. It sucked, majorly. It was like what being ill used to be like before the bite, but a thousand times worse. Actually, now he thought about it… he hadn’t been ill since the bite. Weird.

 

Peter arrived late to class and he got an earful from his advanced mathematics teacher. He could hear Flash chuckling at the back of the class as he was yelled at, but he couldn’t be bothered to feel the telltale flush of embarrassment that he usually would. He was just too exhausted.

 

He had tried to get to class as quickly as he could, but the onset of another dizzy spell had thrown him into someone while he was jogging. He had been left shaky and way too cold to even think about running the rest of the distance. He deserved the earful for sleeping through his alarm. If he had woken up on time, he probably wouldn’t have been so late.

 

He mumbled a quiet, “Sorry, sir,” when the teacher was done talking, and made sure to wear an expression that displayed that he was sufficiently cowed into silence. He was, really. He just wanted to eat a sandwich big enough to make Captain America reconsider and then take a forty year long nap. He gave a tired smile in response to Ned when he tapped Peter’s shoulder, mouthing an ‘ _I’m fine_ ’ to his friend’s concerned expression.

 

He stared groggily at the collection of quadratic equations on the chalkboard. He knew that he probably had to factorise them or something, but the numbers were lost in the haziness in his brain as soon as he looked at them. He did manage to do a few of them, pride sparking weakly in his chest at being able to do so even when exhausted. He did like maths, maybe even enjoy it, but it was difficult on some days to comprehend the subject.

 

It was easier to think when he was sat down. He wasn’t exerting so much precious energy when he wasn’t moving. It allowed his thoughts to run through his head much more easily than they did while he was walking. It also allowed him to regret how little he had eaten recently. His stomach was growling so loudly he was surprised nobody else could hear it, but his senses were enhanced, so it reassured his paranoia just a little bit.

 

He was a mixture of relief and dread when the bell went, signifying the start of the next class. Peter gently gathered his things and put them in his bag, standing up hesitantly. The dizziness that smacked into him was enough to force him to grit his teeth as he waited for the classroom to stop tilting around. Ned’s hand landed on his shoulder gently, as if he feared scaring Peter.

 

Ned was such a good friend to him. Peter didn’t know what he had done to deserve him.

 

“Hey man, you alright? You’re looking a little pale.” He tried to play off Ned’s concern with a grin, but he had a feeling that it came out as more of a grimace.

“O-oh, I’m okay. Just a little tired, that’s all. Didn’t get much sleep last night, then I was late and had to run here… It sucks.” Ned nodded, seemingly taking the half-truth well. If he leaned against Ned just a little as they walked to their next class, Ned didn’t bring it up. He was grateful for his friend’s silence on the matter, because he was already conscious enough of the weakness that had settled into his muscles. He was so _shaky_.

 

He couldn’t focus at all in- in whatever class he was in now. Sounds came to him through water and everything seemed blurry. Every small disturbance in the class made his already freezing body turn that little bit colder, goosebumps rising on his arms. He absently stared at the pen balanced impossibly on his finger — another use for his spider power. He could balance anything on the tip of his finger with ease when he got too bored — and frowned at the trembling of his hand.

 

He jotted down what was written on the board into his book. He never did understand why it was necessary to be able to compare two poems to pass his English. It didn’t make sense. They were interesting to read, don’t get him wrong, but comparing them…? He was probably better at science for a reason.

 

The rest of class passed in a blur, and Ned was dragging Peter by the arm into the cafeteria before he was even aware what was happening. Despite how easily Peter could have stopped him, he let Ned pull him along with a tired smile on his face, even as he had to roughly fold his papers for them to go into his bag while they moved. Ned was always so energetic about some things, it was almost funny.

 

Peter nearly collapsed onto the bench when his legs became unable to hold his weight for any longer. He sighed and rested his head against the table, the cool surface almost pleasant to the touch. He was dragged back from his thoughts by Ned placing an apple in front of him. Peter looked sharply at it, then Ned, then back at the apple.

 

“What?”

Ned pushed the fruit forward again. “You need to eat _something_ , Peter. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I-I can’t take this. I’m sorry.” He pushed the apple back over to Ned with a shaking hand, scowling at the offending limb. He couldn’t take Ned’s food! He couldn’t burden Ned with hunger just because he didn’t have the time or resources to eat this morning…

“I’ve still got food I can eat, it’s fine. You _have_ to eat something.”

 

Peter could tell that Ned wasn’t going to stop until he ate the apple. He sighed, but he picked up the apple, inspecting it. He _was_ starving. He did need to eat, especially now. His lips twitched up in a small smile, although Ned probably couldn’t see it.

“Thank you.”

 

“No problem, man.” Ned clapped his shoulder lightly, as if he was afraid he’d knock Peter over. He couldn’t look _that_ frail, could he?

 

He took a bite out of the apple, trying his best to savour the fruit and eat it slowly instead of fast like he wanted to. It only barely soothed the ever-present ache in his stomach, but it was a better taste than the foul _thing_ that had crawled into his mouth and died.

 

The world was a little clearer after that. Things made a little more sense and it was easier for Peter to do just about everything. It didn’t make it any less difficult for him to pull through the next two lessons he was in before lunch, but he got through with the knowledge that he could eat the probably crushed lunch in his bag. There was a sensation of uneasiness in his gut that he couldn’t shake, even as he tried to distract himself with working.

 

Lunch came quickly, and he couldn’t be happier. Lunch meant he only had two lessons left before he could go back to the apartment, and it meant he could _eat_. He didn’t have much, only a sandwich and an orange, but it still felt a lot better than nothing. Ned looked pleased to see him eating, which forced a small flush onto his cheeks. It felt like Ned had become a lot more concerned about him, after Ben. Probably with valid cause — Peter knew that he had hardly taken care of himself in those first few days. Everything had seemed so pointless.

 

When he was walking to his lesson after lunch, his footsteps dragged a lot less.

 

Then everything went to hell in his last lesson, where the exhaustion and nausea smacked into him so hard it left him reeling. It was lucky that it was only Chem, which he was acing anyway, and he was sat down for the majority of it. His handwriting had sloped off to the left, so he scribbled it out with a huff of frustration.

 

He _was_ trying to formulate a compound that could be used as webbing, and so far he had been getting along with it reasonably well — the first test had decayed too quickly, the second test had been a liquid at room temperature, but didn’t oxidise. He was on the third test now and had a good feeling about it, but his sudden inability to focus on the page forced him to beat a hasty retreat before the teacher caught sight of the extensive list of chemical compounds he had jotted down. He tucked the page into his bag subtly. He’d keep working on that when he could see straight again.

 

The cold was making it hard to focus. Peter grasped at the wrists of his hoodie and tugged them over his knuckles, sighing quietly in relief as the warmth seeped into his hands again. He wasn’t sure if it was a relief or a problem that the bell went off about ten minutes later, the metallic ringing just a _little_ too much for his overstretched senses. There was too much input for him to deal with at the minute. He took a deep breath and stood up, screwing his eyes shut while he waited for the world to stabilise.

 

There were footsteps coming towards him.

 

“You should probably eat something when you get home, Peter. You look terrible.”

He offered a weak smile. “Thanks, Ned. I will.”

 

He could sense the heat radiating from Ned’s hand. It was a little unnerving, given that he usually ran hot enough that Ned’s hand would feel cool on his skin. Every step was a challenge as Peter walked out of the class, teeth gritted with determination as he forced his feet to stay on track instead of veering off to the side.

“See you tomorrow, man.”

“Yeah, see you then.”

 

Peter pulled up his hood as he started the walk, huffing purposefully onto the fabric to warm it up. It was hardly effective and it stuffed his head with more cotton. It did, however, help warm up his chest and shoulders. It was difficult to avoid people as they came at him, the amount of sensory input overwhelming.

 

He had to go somewhere quieter. He swerved to the left into an alleyway. The further in he got, the less sound met his ears, and to that he sighed in relief. Don’t get him wrong, having such good senses was amazing, but it could get too much very quickly.

 

He was mid-step when the lightheadedness struck again and sent him sprawling into a dumpster. As soon as his vision had cleared up enough for him to be able to see, he winced at the dent he had left in the metal. His heart was beating way too fast to be normal as he unsteadily pulled himself back to his feet. Peter knew he probably should have stopped until he could see straight again before trying to go home, but he _had_ to get back. May would freak out if he was home late. He realised with a scowl how slow and shaky his legs were as he forced them to move.

 

He swore he’d actually scream if he got that dizzy ever again. Period.

 

The scratching pain in his stomach didn’t fade the entirety of the walk back. His hands shook even as he unlocked the door to the apartment. Low blood sugar _sucked_. Majorly.

 

As soon as he pushed open the door, he saw May come over to him. Peter gave her a weary smile.

“Hey, baby! How was your day at school?” Tiring. Painful. Confusing. Uncomfortable.

“I-It was good, May.” _Liar_. “How was work?”

“Tiring. But it’s good to be back. It’s nice to have something to do again.”

“That’s… That’s great to hear. But maybe you should take a break. I can cook dinner if you want?” He wasn’t that bad a cook, actually. It seemed like the right thing to do, given the bags under May’s eyes. A bubble of concern popped in his chest.

“Peter, you look dead on your feet. I’ll be fine.”

 

Peter didn’t want May to work herself so hard. He couldn’t lose her too.

 

“May, please just… take a break. I’ll survive.” He hated how his voice broke a little as he spoke. He couldn’t bear the thought of sounding so defenseless. He _had_ to be strong.

“Oh, Peter,” May cradled his face in her hands, rubbing his cheek gently with her thumb. Peter leaned into the contact. “You’re such a good boy. Ben would be so _proud_ of you.” Her sad, teary smile was enough to spur him back into motion, tossing his school bag into a corner.

 

The atmosphere in the apartment was too heavy. That conversation had been way too emotionally charged, and now everything felt uncomfortable. Peter walked over to the freezer and opened it, wincing at the _complete lack of food_ on the inside. His cavernous stomach growled loudly.

“I’m gonna have to go out to buy groceries. Freezer’s empty.” He closed the freezer’s door and turned around to face May.

“Oh- Of course. I’ll drop you a text with everything you need to get, okay?”

“‘Kay. I’m gonna empty my bag real quick, hang on-” Peter snatched up his bag and walked to his room, tossing back the comforter to dump the contents of his bag onto the mattress. He made sure to tuck the page with the chemical formula for the web fluid under the _bed_ instead of under the comforter. May couldn’t know about what he did. It would put her in so much danger.

 

He didn’t bother to change out of his clothes into something warmer. He really had to get food for May. Peter made sure to hug May before exiting the apartment, closing the door behind him. The grocery store wasn’t too far away anyways. He’d be fine.

 

So he told himself.

 

He hadn’t felt so weak in a long time. Even as he stepped into the shop, the twitching of his muscles didn’t stop. He could swear he was about to have a seizure. Or collapse.

 

Yeah, he probably wouldn’t be able to go on patrol tonight. Everything hurt. Looking at his phone, he plucked what May wanted from the shelves. It was nearly too much to carry using only his arms, but he willed his fingers to stick to the objects on the very edges of his grip. It wasn’t too difficult, even if he was painfully aware of every beat of his heart. Too fast. Too fast.

 

The room was lilting.

 

Peter had to grit his teeth as he handed over the money, nails carving small cuts into his palm as the dizziness shoved into him again. His brain was fuzzy and almost disconnected from reality, dark spots hovering over his vision. _Running on empty._ The faintness was quickly overrunning his head-

“You okay there, kid?” The shopkeeper’s concerned voice snapped him out of his daze.

“O-oh. I’m fine. I’m fine.” It sounded more like he was trying to convince himself. And failing.

 

He still put the groceries in his bag and swung it over his shoulders. His knees were weak, and his body felt like it weighed tons.

 

Everything seemed watery. Abstract. Far away.

 

Walking was instinctive. His feet took him back to the apartment even as his mind roiled. He wanted to throw up. Or sleep. The thought of eating made him nauseous.

 

Everything felt wrong.

 

May must have been in her room when he stepped back into the apartment, stumbling heavily into the room. She wasn’t in sight. He was glad. Was he dying? He must be dying. That would explain why his limbs were so heavy. Why his thoughts were so far off, slipping away like sand in a clenched fist.

 

Wonderfully, blissfully abstract.

 

His stomach hurt.

 

He stumbled towards the kitchen counter. He put his bag on the counter as carefully as he could, opening it so he could get the food out. His hands were shaking so much.

 

He was breathing too fast. Hyperventilating.

“O-okay.”

 

Peter blinked owlishly. The black spots ate up at his vision and gravity pulled at his body painfully.

 

Wrong. _Wrong_. This was wrong. This shouldn’t have been happening. What was happening?

 

His head cracked painfully against something, and then-

 

Nothing.

 

* * *

 

“Are you okay? I heard a- Oh my god, Peter-!”

  


“Please wake up, come on baby…”

 

“Hang on, I’ll get you somewhere more comfortable… I really hope you haven’t hit your head. Concussions are tricky…”

 

“You shouldn’t be so light. It’s not healthy, especially for someone your age.”

 

“The sofa should be better for you. God, you’re so pale. I…”

 

“I’ll wait here for you, baby. Please wake up soon?”

 

“You’re staying home tomorrow. There is no way in hell I’m letting you go in to school like this.”

 

“I’m gonna call an ambulance, okay?”

 

 

* * *

 

Peter cracked open an eye and waited for everything to come into focus. Everything was blurred, colours the only really distinguishable thing he could see. If he squinted, he might be able to see shapes, but… No. The room smelt like his apartment, and he could scent perfume easily.

 

He hurt. Everywhere.

 

He shifted his arm a little, a small groan escaping his mouth as his head shifted. The nausea from earlier had settled deep into his gut, rising up into his throat when he turned his head. He was so _dizzy_.

 

_What happened…?_

 

“Oh my god, you’re awake. Peter, you’re okay, baby.” Soft, feminine hands were on his face. _Aunt_ _May_.

It took a few minutes for him to gather his thoughts enough to be able to speak, “Wha’appened?”

“You passed out. I was just about to call an ambulance, you weren’t waking up! I just heard you come back in and then there was a thud, so I came in and you were on the floor-”

Guilt rose up in his throat. Or maybe it was bile. She must have been so worried about him. “M’sorry.”

“Oh, baby… Don’t be sorry.”

 

It was a challenge to get his limbs to cooperate enough for him to hug May, but he was rewarded by blissfully warm arms wrapping around his shoulders. They stayed like that for a few minutes, the silence in the apartment comforting and quiet.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling so good? What’s wrong?” May’s voice was soothing and soft. _Loving_. A warm sensation weakly bloomed in his chest at the outpouring of concern.

 

Then the question May asked got through the fog in his head. Peter tried to think of a lie on the spot, but his good excuses deserted him at the sight of May’s nearly-teary eyes and scared expression. He decided to let the truth out, only hiding his crime-fighting activities.

“Haven’t eaten. We don’t have enough money… I can’t take food, not when you need it more. We can’t afford for me to eat enough to feel good.” The atmosphere in the apartment grew heavy, and it raised the hairs on his neck.

“Oh, baby I’m so sorry. Everything will be better soon, I promise. We’ll have more money soon.” May’s voice was thick with tears, so Peter made sure to hug a little tighter.

“May, it’s okay-”

She cut him off swiftly. “No, it’s not okay. It never should have gotten to a point where you pass out because you haven’t eaten today. Hell, what have you eaten today?”

“Um. I had some toast for breakfast and Ned gave me an apple for lunch.”

 

She did _not_ look pleased at his quiet answer.

 

“Oh, god. Okay. I’ve got dinner on now, okay? You just- You just stay sat down. Your blood sugars have to be way too low for me to even want you stood up.” May walked over to a cupboard and pulled out a blanket, coming back to rest it over Peter’s body. Normally he would have protested, but he was just so… weak. Tired.

“But May-”

“No arguments. Sit down and wait for food.” Peter sighed.

“M’kay.” He snuggled into the blanket and closed his eyes. The sound of cupboard doors opening and closing, pans lightly clattering and white noise pulled him into a trance not unlike sleeping. It sounded alive. He smiled despite how run down he felt.

 

He stayed like that, curled up into a ball on the couch, for nearly fifteen minutes before he realised that he really, _really_ needed to pee. Peter didn’t want to disturb the blanket and his warmth, but slipped his leg out into the cold anyway. His socks — May must have taken off his shoes after he passed out — gently touched down into the ground. He tested his weight gently, screwing his eyes shut at the wave of vertigo that crashed over him.

 

His legs shook when he stood up and his vision briefly faded out again. He could feel his fist tightening hard on the back of the sofa as he tried to stabilise himself.

 

May turned back to check on him, eyes locked with his own immediately. “Peter! What are you doing, sit back down! You’ll pass out again!” He could tell that she was getting ready to come over and sit him back down again herself if she had to. He held up his hands in surrender.

“I’m just going to the toilet, May. I _really_ gotta go.”

“Do you need any help getting there? I don’t want you hitting your head again.” He didn’t want to hit his head again, either. The splitting headache was motivation enough for him to take it slow.

 

Peter’s cheeks flushed as he laughed, “N-No, I’ll be fine. I promise.”

 

Shuffling to the bathroom was nothing short of torture. His steps had to be very short and measured to stop the imbalance in his head from getting to his body. His heart was still beating too fast in his chest for his comfort, the thready-feeling vibrations a constant distraction. He had to grip onto the walls to keep upright.

 

Instead of turning the bathroom lights on, he just left the door open — he had a gut feeling that his senses would _not_ react well to the sudden, bright light. He did what he had to do and washed his hands before turning to leave the bathroom.

 

Then he caught his reflection in the mirror.

 

He winced at the sight of the dark colours bruise starting to bloom across his cheekbone. It was dark and ugly, marring the right side of his face. He stared at it for a few seconds, prodding lightly at the injury before frowning.

“Why isn’t it healing..?”

 

Metabolism. Lack of food. No energy for his cells to repair themselves.

“ _Riiiiiiight._ ”

 

It was equally as horrible getting back onto the couch, but it was a relief to get back under the blanket again. The cold had spread across his whole body, to the point where he couldn’t tell if his muscles were shaking because of the lack of energy or the chill. The soft, worn material of the blanket was soothing against his skin.

 _God_ , he was so tired.

 

He let his eyes slip shut, the sounds of the apartment lulling him to sleep.

 

“Peter? Food’s ready.”

 

His stomach growled loudly before he had even opened his eyes, and a hot flush rose up to his face — he could only imagine how red his cheeks had gone. The scent of food reached his nose, flooding his mouth with saliva instantly. How he had even survived the school day, he didn’t know. He stood and shuffled towards the kitchen.

 

He didn’t care to see what he picked out of the mismatched selection of foods May had cooked and laid out neatly in the table. He just cared that he could eat again. Peter _did_ make sure to pace himself as he ate, because his stomach still felt too sensitive for too much food all at once. He couldn’t risk throwing it back up later on.

 

His body started to feel more balanced as soon as he finished eating. Warmth gradually returned to his extremities without the assistance of the blanket, and the shakiness came to a stop. The weird, uptight sensation in his chest — he hadn’t even realised it had been there since he woke up — unwound, and breathing came a lot smoother and easier.

“I don’t think I’ve ever eaten this much before.”

May huffed. “Well I’m glad you did. You scared me so much.”

 

The guilt crawled back in. He’d collapsed and May had found his body, and given everything that had happened with Ben… God, that must have been the _worst_ for her. He could only imagine how he would have reacted if he found May passed out on the floor.

 

“I’m sorry.” He looked down. May’s hand rested gently on his shoulder, rubbing small circles. “B-But we don’t have the money for this.” And they didn’t. May got paid soon, but the dread that rose in his chest at the thought of being unable to eat was still there.

“Things will get back to normal soon. Once everything has settled…” Peter frowned. Ben’s death had thrown them into financial disarray, and now the burdens of two people and the uphold of an apartment rested solely on May’s shoulders, even when she still had her own grief to contend with.

 

“I should get a job.” May looked at him sharply, and a small part of him wanted to take the statement back. The larger part of him held strong under her stare. “It’s not fair that I leave you to work so hard.”

May seemed to regain her voice. “Peter, you’re just a kid!” And that pulled a small flare of annoyance out of him. He _knew_ he was a kid. It didn’t make it okay to leave so much work to her.

 

“I know I’m just a kid! But I’m _smart_! I can’t leave you to work yourself to the bone like this!” May’s expression softened as he spoke. He was pleased he had managed to convey his point across well enough that she understood.

“Oh, Peter… You’re such a good kid. But I can’t let you get a job, not now. Maybe after you graduate though.” Peter pulled a face.

“I… I’ll take that. But please take care of yourself, May. I can’t…” A stab of grief hit his chest. He couldn’t lose _another_ parent.

May wrapped her arms around him in another hug, one full of affection and concern. “Oh, baby. I know. I’m not going anywhere.”

 

They stayed like that for about five minutes, just hugging each other. Peter buried his head into the crook of May's neck. It was reassuring to be able to feel the tiny vibrations of May's heartbeat under his fingertips. 

A splitting yawn caught him unawares. 

"I think you should hit the hay, Pete. You look exhausted." May pulled back and held his face in her hands again. He leaned into the contact, eyes still closed.

"Y-yeah... I think I will." He didn't bother to pick up his bag from where May had left it on a chair as he trudged to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He was about finished in the bathroom when he caught his reflection again.

 

The bruise was fading to a green colour.

 

He couldn't fight off the smile that rose up to his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter! It's based on my own (nOT) fun experiences with forgetting to eat! Yeesh, it sucks...
> 
> We've only got one chapter left (kudos to you if you know what it is) now before I move to the next six featuring Irondad!!
> 
> I really enjoyed doing that little bit with May speaking while Peter was out cold. Unconsciousness is a really tricky thing. Sometimes you can hear things, other times you can't. That's what I was trying to reflect there.
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


	6. Spidey-senses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a few days since the (awesome!) Avengers fight in Germany, and Peter has been settling back into normal life again -- or as normal as Spider-Man's life can be. 
> 
> It's time for that to be thrown back into disarray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ₕₑy ₛₒ yₒᵤ gᵤyₛ ₜₕₑ ₘₐᵢₙ ₛᵢₓ cₕₐₚₜₑᵣₛ ₐᵣₑ dₒₙₑ ₙₒw!! yₒᵤ ₖₙₒw wₕₐₜ ₜₕₐₜ ₘₑₐₙₛ?? yₒᵤ'ᵣₑ gₑₜₜᵢₙg ᵢᵣₒₙdₐd ₙₑₓₜ, fₑₐₜᵤᵣᵢₙg ₜₕₑ ₒₜₕₑᵣ ₐᵥₑₙgₑᵣₛ ₐₙd ₒₙₑ ₍₁₎ ₛₜᵢcₖy Bₒᵢ'ₛ ₚₒwₑᵣₛ 
> 
> In other words, I hope you enjoy this chapter!! We can start with the next six soon! I hope you'll enjoy those, because I sure as hell will!

It had been almost a week since Tony Stark — Tony Stark! Peter still wasn’t over the fact that  _ the _ Tony Stark had come to  _ him _ of all people — had recruited him to help with- with- with whatever that fight in Germany had been. It still made Peter giddy to think of how he fought  _ Captain-freakin’-America _ and a bunch of other awesome superheroes and Avengers and even held his own, despite only having been in the superhero business for a short while. And the new suit! It was so,  _ so _ much better than his homemade one, and the technology and the features and the web patterns across the entire thing… There weren’t enough words for just how much he loved the suit. 

 

Winding down after Germany had been difficult. Fending off May’s overprotective tendencies and keeping her attention away from the already-healed bruises had been more difficult. Patrols, at least, had become a lot easier with the new suit’s capabilities.

 

And now?

 

Grocery shopping.

 

Oh, how bored he was with regular, non-superhero life. Don’t get him wrong, spending time outside as a regular teenager was great, relaxing, even, and spending that time with May made it even better, but something about his superhero-double life was oh-so enticing to him. Maybe it was the thrill of adrenaline when he swung through New York with only a thin strand of webbing keeping him from going splat against the floor. Maybe it was the genuinely warm, joyful sensation he got in his chest whenever he got to see another person return to their families and homes safely. Peter didn’t know what it was about being Spider-Man that made him feel so complete, but it just did. 

 

But, as there are two sides to a coin, there were two sides to him. Peter Parker, and Spider-Man. He couldn’t have one without the other, and he wouldn’t want to spend all his time as a web-swinging hero-slash-vigilante anyway. Grocery shopping might be a chore, but it was a damn sight easier than fighting criminals in back alleys. And after losing Ben… all time he could spend with May was time he was damn willing to spend with her. Even if it was boring.

 

Peter dropped a can of spaghetti into the shopping basket on his arm.  

 

The store wasn’t that crowded, but it was far from empty. Peter was just glad that he had finally grown into his senses, because  _ this _ was just starting to push on the limits of what he could take. There was so much  _ input _ . People moving around and fumbling for items on the shelves. Footsteps sounding about the smooth flooring, echoing from the aisles and walls. He could distinguish people’s breathing patterns if he listened carefully enough. Peter shook his head, and focused on pulling cans off the shelf again. The list of items May had given him was stuck firmly to his hand, so no rogue gusts of wind pulled it out of his hand, and he pulled what was listed off the shelves with ease. 

 

Peter yawned slightly. Patrol had been exhausting, and having not really caught up on sleep since Germany… It’s safe to say he was just a little tired. Hell, because he had so little sleep, every little movement out of the corners of his eyes were accompanied by an uncomfortable pressure at the back of his skull and a small shock of adrenaline. Walking into the dairy product aisle was a wake-up call — he knew spiders were bad at thermoregulation, so it made sense that he’d be a little more susceptible to it than the normal person — as the cold rush of air sunk into his flesh. Peter flinched. Most of the abilities he got from the spider bite were pretty cool, but this one… this one was just a pain. He could hardly even enjoy the colder, clearer evenings in New York anymore. Peter tugged the sleeve of his sweater down to cover his fingers. It was hardly effective in banishing the cold, but it was better than freezing. He made sure to be quick as he snagged some milk from the fridge to prevent the goosebumps that were travelling up from his arms from getting any higher-

 

Wait.

 

The gooseflesh feeling was buried under a weird, tingly thing settling at the nape of his neck. Peter frowned, but continued his path out of the cold aisle to find May again. People were still walking around like normal, chatting to friends and family animatedly, and Peter felt himself relax slightly at the sight. Everything was still going normally, even if his anxiety had decided to kick up a fuss about nothing. He breathed out a sigh of relief and lightly jogged over to the next aisle, letting his sneakers skid across the smooth surface of the floor. The action made some childlike part of him  _ very _ happy, and to be honest, he found himself enjoying it far more than a superhero probably should. Peter scanned the aisle for what he was looking for, until his eyes landed on the small, cardboard container the eggs would be in. He let his instincts guide him through the crowds of people, weaving through the mass of bodies with the grace of a dancer, even as he ignored the very distracting prickly feeling at the back of his head. It was weird to think that just a few months ago, Peter would have been stumbling through like the clumsy, semi-blind teenage boy that he was. But now? He could tell just by the texture of the vibrations in the floor how far away someone was, how heavy they were, what shoes they were wearing… it got pretty confusing, quickly. 

 

Peter was just reaching for the egg carton when the tingling  _ thing _ sprung up quickly in his mind, blotting out any other thoughts with its shrill presence. It was like a headache but worse, grating and demanding that it was the complete focus of his attention, forcing reality out as adrenaline rushed in. He clutched at his temples in the same second that the first gunshot rung out around the store, and the lights went out as the screaming started.

 

He dropped the eggs.

 

His instincts, the more primal region of his brain, seemed to seize his body as he shot out of the aisle, searching for the very familiar set of breaths and vibrations that belonged to May. Normally he wouldn’t even dream of using his abilities like that, mostly because he hadn’t learned to focus his senses down into something so precise, but that was a  _ gun _ , and the last time he heard a gun firing outside of his patrols was when he lost Ben. He couldn’t let that happen to May, ever. He couldn’t help directly with whoever had the weapon, because he had left Mr. Stark’s suit at home — he didn't think he'd need it for a simple grocery trip, he should have worn it under his clothes anyways — and he couldn't backflip over a bullet as Peter Parker. 

 

The rows of the shop were deserted now, if the lack of vibrations was anything to go by. Having only the dim light from his phone’s display screen made the lack of light in the store more unnerving, oppressive and heavy as he treaded silently through the empty space. Peter knew the other people were probably hiding in the aisles, behind things if they could find it, but the contrast between bustling superstore and shooting situation was nauseating. And he was out in the open. He ignored how fast his heart was beating, how shaky his arms and legs had turned.  _ God _ , it was becoming too similar to what happened last time. He had to find May. Peter dug deep into his senses and the input they supplied him with before finding the sensory information that was  _ definitely _ May's. 

 

When he found her, crouched behind what felt like a stand full of DVDs, his heart almost stopped. She didn’t look hurt under the dim light of his phone, not even scratched, but the wide, vacant look in her eyes probably mirrored his own and  _ god _ , the relief that flooded his veins was more than enough to nearly force his knees out from under him. 

 

_ He hadn’t lost her _ .

“May-!” He whispered frantically, crouching down next to her. She blinked in shock, and her hands were on his face before he could even ask her not to freak out. May’s thumbs traced over his cheeks, gently under his eyelids, as if she was etching the sensory impression into her mind forever. Peter leaned into the contact softly. 

“Hey, I’m okay. I’m okay.” He breathed discreetly, grabbing at May’s free hand. Physical contact had become the best way to get through to her after losing Ben, and in a situation like this, oh-too similar to how she lost him, it seemed like the best idea to try to calm her down.

 

He hardly even noticed how fast and shallow his own breaths were until May took the shopping basket off of his arms — he hadn’t even realised he still had it on him — and rested it noiselessly on the floor before wrapping him into a tight hug. Peter made sure to moderate how much strength he exerted when he hugged her back. He could never hurt May. It seemed like forever had passed before Peter pulled away from the hug, inaudibly dabbing away the tears that had escaped without his knowledge. The now-painful tingling at the base of his skull hadn’t stopped screaming the entire time since the first gunshot sounded, and the same instincts that drew him to May were telling him that the danger was still around. They were close to the front of the store, but the sudden noise of footsteps would draw the person’s attention, and running to the door would more than likely wind up with Peter, or worse, May, getting shot in the back. He strained his ears to be able to pick out any sounds that would indicate the shooter getting any closer to their position. This time, when the grating at the back of his head flared up, he didn’t ignore it. He let the sensation pull him along.

 

It grew overwhelming soon after, like the pain of the migraine when his senses got dialled up, and another gunshot followed soon after. The silence that followed the shot reeked with fear; there hadn’t been any screaming this time. He didn’t know if that was better or worse. Peter could hear someone muttering into their phone, voice choked up with a sickening mixture of tears, panic and fear, probably to the cops. He was reasonably sure that the hushed voice was quiet enough to have not been heard by the shooter. He didn’t speak up, just to be safe. He hated the quiet in the store. It was way,  _ way _ too easy to distinguish the breaths of hidden people nearby from one another, the stuttering breaths of a crying child ringing out in his ears hauntingly. Peter’s fist clenched involuntarily. After having stopped so many events like this as Spider-Man, he couldn’t help the surge of restlessness that bubbled in his veins, because  _ Peter Parker _ couldn’t stop a shooting, and Peter Parker was who he was right now. He knew he couldn’t do anything to help the situation, but it didn’t stop the knowledge of his uselessness from leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. Or maybe that was just bile.

 

He knew what the symptoms of a panic attack were. He knew that he was displaying them. But he couldn’t control the flashes of memories, couldn’t stop the sensation imprint of last time from etching itself into now. Peter opened his eyes. May was staring at him, tears in her eyes, so he made a conscious effort to try to control how each breath was sucked in.  _ In, and out. In, and out. _ His grip on May didn’t loosen in the slightest, because he  _ had _ to keep her safe. Even if it meant getting hurt himself, he had to keep May safe. 

 

He tightens his hold a little when his enhanced hearing caught the footsteps. They were heavy, and the vibrations were getting strong enough to alert him that the shooter was getting closer. The panic that had receded to the back of Peter’s head came back full force, right alongside the screaming instinct to run somewhere and hide until the threat had passed. 

 

The footsteps kept on coming, echoing

 

one

by one

 

by one

  
  


by one

  
  


getting closer

  
  


the darkness made his hearing that little bit more overwhelming 

and he could feel his heartbeat in his ears

 

and the footsteps just. Wouldn’t. Stop. Coming.

  
  
  


too close, too close, he had to take May and move somewhere else-

  
  


Peter flinched as the pressure at the back of his brain increased and some cans clattered as they fell from a shelf onto the floor nearby, maybe just behind the aisle where they were crouched. Peter took May’s hand and raise himself up slightly from where he was crouched. She looked at him with shock and dread on her face, so Peter was quick to mouth reassurances, waving his hands messily in what was meant to be a comforting gesture but instead probably looked like flailing. The footsteps had stopped moving since the cans fell, maybe pulling back and going somewhere else, but Peter could  _ not _ risk staying where he was. He didn’t know if the person was robbing the store, just shooting people or wanted to take people’s valuables, but it would be stupid to stay put. There was a slight patch of brightness peeking over the top of the aisle, which meant the shooter had a torch and probably had people on the outside of the building by the fuse box, if the power cut was anything to go by. Armed robbery, then.

_ We have to move. _ Decidedly, Peter didn’t like communicating mutely. It took precious seconds for May to understand his meaning and shakily stand up, pulling off her flats to further soften her footfalls on the smooth flooring of the store. Making their way over to the opposite end of the aisle was nothing short of torturous, but they did it, and they managed to get behind a till before stopping again.

 

They were so close to the doors. Just that little extra run, and they could make it outside. It left a bitter taste in his mouth to acknowledge the fact that they would probably get shot if they tried to make the run. Peter really,  _ really _ wished he could call Mr. Stark right about now, but he probably would have been to busy to do anything, so it wouldn’t mean anything in the end. Peter screwed his eyes shut and bit his cheek, hard, to distract himself. All those worst case scenario thoughts were really starting to get to him. He was just glad that it was probably too dark for May to see the beginnings of tears in his eyes, because then she’d fret over him and they would give away their position.

 

He nearly yelped when the tingling turned back into stabbing, and the silence was torn to pieces by another gunshot. It was in all likelihood a technique to try and scare the people out of hiding. Some scattering footsteps followed the shot, then silence again. It was like a damn horror movie, but this was real and they had no way out for an indefinite time. He tried to focus on what little grounding sensations he could find. May was clutching his hand with an unexpectedly strong grip, but he could hardly feel it beyond the haze of panic that was still looming over him. Peter closed his eyes and made a few attempts to control his breathing but he  _ couldn’t _ , he couldn’t because it was too similar to Ben and fuck, he couldn’t lose May too.

 

He couldn’t be alone again. 

 

Warm hands softly wiped away the tears that had started to run down his cheeks with so much love that it only made them fall faster. He knew he couldn’t have done anything to control the situation, but he still felt responsible for being completely and utterly useless to help anyone else. He reached over and grabbed May’s other hand. He knew it made him childish. But all that was running through his head were thoughts of loss and death, and if he had to lose May, he wanted to be able to remember her as well as possible. Her smell, the way she smiled when he achieved something at school, her cooking, the comfort only she could give him as a parent. Peter made sure to make the hitching motions of his chest as unnoticeable as possible when he was pulled into a tight hug, arms coming up to his back and hands softly running through the back of his hair.

 

His grip tightened when the tingling got stronger again. He might have not known much about what the weird danger sense  _ thing _ was, but he knew it enough to know that he hadn’t gotten far away enough. He had tried to save May. He tried. That was all he could do. 

 

Peter screwed his eyes shut and buried his head into the crook of May’s neck.

  
  
  
  


The gunshot never came. Peter looked up, eyes wet-

  
  


And the police burst through the doors of the shop. Within what felt like a few seconds, the sound of a struggle and a body hitting the floor met his ears. The tingling never died down the entire time, even as the abundance of people who had been hiding all rushed towards the exit at once, Peter and May included. 

 

The fresh air felt like a gift in itself. Noises didn’t bounce around and reverberate like they did in the building but were lost into the night’s air, and for that Peter breathed a sigh of relief. Hands were ushering them along to a police car, and he didn’t even realise that a shock blanket had been rested on him until May huddled underneath it too. His body didn’t feel like it was his own, heavy and uncooperative as he tried to raise his arms in a hugging motion. May seemed to get the message though, because he was cradled gently afterwards.

 

Time passed weirdly after that. A taxi had come to pick them up, and it had taken what felt like seconds to arrive. The journey back seemed a lot longer. Peter stared at his hands for the whole journey. Nobody had died. If they had, there would have been blood on his hands because he would have tried to save them. Reassuring himself was difficult, because no matter how many times he presented the facts to his mind, the  _ what-if _ s still ran rampant. What if he had worn the suit? What if someone had died? What if May got hurt? What would he do if May died? Each question was worse than the last, more harrowing and upsetting to think about the further along the line he got.

 

His eyes must have been wide, unseeing, but he couldn’t help but see Ben bleeding out under his hands, the gunshots firing and echoing around everywhere he turns, so much  _ pain _ as the taxi took them home. The tingling hadn’t died down either, occasionally flaring up painfully before potholes or harsh stops. 

 

When they arrived outside the apartment complex, the night had set in and the cold was starting to get to him. He should have brought a coat. His legs shook as he stood — a leftover effect of the shock, definitely — while the tingling changed to an annoying rubbing sensation. 

“Be careful with the curb.” He blurted. He didn’t want May to hurt herself on it.

“I will be, baby, see?” May carefully avoided the steep incline and walked up to Peter, ruffling his hair affectionately. He didn’t even playfully complain about that like he normally would, which had to be because of the shock, because even  _ he _ was surprised by that. He just didn’t have the energy to whine about such simple things anymore. 

 

Peter’s ears were ringing still and everything was moving slowly as they entered the apartment complex, then the lift. Everything looked underwater, moving sluggishly and dully around him. He was so tired. How had he not noticed that before?

 

He hardly even registered May helping him to the couch and sitting him down as soon as they stepped foot in their apartment. He closed his eyes — thank god the curtains were closed and the lights were off — and tried to control the shuddering breaths escaping him. Breathing exercises were more difficult now than they were in the store. Maybe it was because he had adrenaline keeping him alert when he was actively under threat? Peter didn’t know. What he did know was that he really wanted to take a  _ really _ long nap and keep May nearby. He heard the fridge open quietly and the metallic  _ clink _ of a can of something being pulled out. He kept his eyes closed and focused on how long he let himself hold his breath for before exhaling. 

 

The rubbing sensation flared up into a pointed, scratching thing coming from his left, and he caught the can of ginger beer May had thrown towards him with ease. Peter frowned, turning the can over in his hands and inspecting it.

 

Something flared up in his chest as he inspected the can, and it dragged him back to wakefulness quickly. Every time something dangerous or threatening happened today, he  _ knew _ it was going to happen before it actually did. And he managed to move out of the way accordingly, even without knowing what was happening. Peter paused, frowning. This couldn’t be  _ another _ ability, could it…? What about a spider bite screams  _ danger senses _ ? The strength and speed made sense; they’re proportionate to that of a spider. Wall crawling made sense too. Fast healing was a little odd, but this? This was crazy new and crazier weird.

 

He had to test the theory. It could just be his senses causing subconscious reflexes. Before he made any assumptions about what was causing the danger sense, he had to experiment. 

“Uhm, May?”

“What’s up, baby?” Her voice was hushed, exhausted. Peter didn’t blame her. He was pretty shaken up by the incident too, but he had this new sense as a distraction. May… May didn’t.

“Could you chuck me an apple? ‘M hungry.”

“Heads up.” Peter closed his eyes. He let his senses focus on random things so they wouldn’t interfere with how the new sense worked; hearing focused on the TV, smell and taste focused on the ginger beer. They wouldn’t let him know when the apple approached.

 

He exhaled lightly.

 

The buzzing flared up, more of a  _ hey, something’s coming _ than the shrill screeching from earlier on. He turned his body slightly and outstretched his arm in time for his fingers to curl around the smooth surface of the fruit. Peter gently threw it up into the air and caught it again before taking a bite out of it. 

 

The question of  _ why _ still lingered in his head, resting uncomfortably next to the remnants of stress and fear from earlier on, but that pretty much confirmed it. For some stupid,  _ freakin’ nuts _ reason, a spider bite gave him either  _ really _ good spacial awareness or a built in danger sense. Either way, that was… pretty awesome, actually.

 

Peter blinked. Back in Germany when he fought the Avengers… he didn’t know why he was remembering that now, but he recalled, clear as day, that when the Winter Soldier threw that hunk of metal back at him, he ducked even though there was a huge bearing pole between him and seeing the projectile coming. His senses had peaked, and he had dodged it before he saw it coming. He couldn’t remember if the scratchy feeling had been present in the moment, but… maybe it’s an ability he had been sleeping on. 

 

The couch dipped a little as May sat down. Peter shuffled a little closer to her with a yawn. They may have been out of danger now, but his senses were still just a little too hyperactive and jumpy for him to be able to sleep well. He snuggled into May’s side, all-too aware of how childish it made him but uncaring towards the fact because he was in an active shooting situation as a civilian. He was allowed to want comfort. A small part of him wondered if Mr. Stark would want to hear about the new ability or not. He supposed he could leave Happy a message. 

 

Wait a second. 

“I forgot the eggs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the chapter (and the reference to the TASM movies, with the whole 'eggs' thing)! I really enjoyed writing this one, mostly because of the challenge it posed. Writing situations like that is very difficult. I do hope I've done it some form of justice. I also struggled with American superstore layouts, because I am in fact a native of Southern England and haven't stepped foot in a single American-looking superstore, ever. 
> 
> And to those who enjoyed my messing with text alignment last time: I did this bit for you guys! I mean, I did it for me too, but I thought it'd be neat to do it again. I'm surprised more people don't do it, it makes expressing sound so easy... 
> 
> If you want, comment situations you'd like to see these abilities pop up in for the next six chapters! You can include whoever you want, Avengers and all, because I'm open to show the team learning about Peter's abilities.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Hope you have a great day / night! <3


	7. Enhanced healing, pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The only thing better than fighting against the Avengers is fighting with the Avengers. Even if he has had a rough day, there is no way in hell that Peter's passing this opportunity up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey again! I'm back with the first of these six bonus chapters for you guys! Big thank you to deaththecat for sending in the comment that inspired this chapter! Couldn't have done it without you ;) Hope you enjoy the Sticky Boi getting to hang out with Irondad and the gang!
> 
>  
> 
> Also, I’ve been asked a few times by numerous people about adding in non-canon spider abilities, like Peter being unable to thermoregulate or actually doing spidery things. I’m gonna add them, but here’s the question: do you want to see these as small references in chapters, or do you want them to get their own chapters after these six? I don’t mind, either way. ("This will be a 5 + 1!" I say, lying to myself.)

Peter sighs. His day at school had been pretty rough, with being late again, missing half of an algebra test and Flash being on his case constantly. He doesn’t know how he puts up with it some days. He wanted nothing more than to wipe the smug grin of Flash’s face, even against his pledge to non-violence. He’s enjoying patrols a lot more now he’s cleared everything up with Mr. Stark and got his suit back, with no Vulture to worry about and simple crime being the least of his concerns. Then simple crime devolved into less simple crime, and now he’s about four hours past curfew. Every time he gets close to going home he sees another crime happening or about to happen, and he can’t just _let_ that happen, and so the time he’s spent outside has dragged from hour into hours. Peter’s hungry and he’s tired and his senses are starting to go haywire about _everything_ and he really, really wants to make a web hammock and pass out for a few days.

 

And now?

 

Roadwork disturbances. Or, some whackjob in red — stealing his look! Well, minusing the swords on the other guy’s back, and the black instead of the blue — crashing a bunch of cars. And not to mention, all the gunfire in the streets. Peter groans loudly and flips over one of the incoming projectiles. The guy in the red has disappeared from Peter’s line of sight, something he’s not sure he’s happy about, and it’s left him alone with what sounds like one of the remaining assailants. The rest look to have fled, too. Dodging the bullets himself is easy, because he’s equipped with a built-in danger sense and super enhanced reflexes, but he has to remember that civilians don’t have those abilities either. Drawing the gunfire away from the more populated regions without getting shot is hard enough, harder when not injuring anyone else. He manages though, somehow, and manages to buy enough time for the street to be corralled and vacated. It’s just a case of webbing the guy up when he runs out of ammo. Peter sighs, rubbing pointedly at the bridge of his nose. He’s pretty sure a rogue punch broke it. He can feel it healing though, damaged cartilage popping back into place with wet _squelches_. The police take over from Peter from there on out, gratefully taking the criminals who _weren’t_ webbed to walls into custody, cuffing them and pushing them into the police cars, and thanking him.

 

He knows that he’s just lucky to have been caught in such positive press light, working with the Avengers and all… J. Jonah Jameson would have probably been non-stop on Spider-Man’s case about it otherwise. He knows not all people are for the whole ‘masked-vigilante’ type, but that guy takes it too far, all the time. Peter waves at the remaining police as they climb into their cars, and suddenly the streets are full of people again, thanking him and trying to get in close. It’s uncomfortable, having so much sensory information impressioned on him all at once, but he makes do. They’re all thanking him after all. He can’t run away and ignore that. He can feel himself blushing and stuttering like a moron when someone quickly rushes in and hugs him — he hardly remembers how short he is in the suit, but now? He feels like he’s a child, not a superhero. God, why is he so short? Peter stays like that, animatedly chatting with these strangers and waving his arms around, until it’s been nearly half an hour and he remembers that May is going to string him up for having forgotten his curfew. He waves at the people happily as he shoots a web line, waiting for it to secure before pulling himself up and out of the way of the civilians.

 

The adrenaline rush that comes through him is a relief as he starts swinging through the buildings. It really wakes him up, not unlike the looming threat of death by Aunt May’s rage. Peter sighs despairingly. He’s really, really been out way too late. But asides from that, he’s just glad to have finished the fight. He’s exhausted, and he could really use a nice, long, hot shower-

 

A bullet, cleanly fired and approaching fast, severs the web he’s swinging on before he can change direction or fire a new web. He doesn’t have time to respond as he hurtles towards the ground. Another three gunshots sound out as he’s falling, the deafening thunder-clap like noise bouncing off of tall buildings. Peter counts them as he falls. One whizzes straight past his head and imbeds itself within the brickwork of a nearby apartment complex. The second one clangs against something made of metal, maybe a ladder or something, and he loses track of the third as the rapidly approaching ground triggers his Spidey-sense. Peter raises his arms to protect his head-

 

And hits the gravelly surface of the roof, hard. He bounces a few times before slamming to a halt, gasping for air that won’t come. His breaths feel wet; coppery in the back of his throat as he lays on the rough surface, and his ribs ache like they’ve been broken. Hell, given how fast he had been falling, they probably are, if not worse. There aren’t any echoing shots bouncing off buildings for the following ten minutes, which should be a relief, but his ribs feel pulverised now and he’s pretty sure his shoulder is dislocated.

 

He releases a sharp breath which drags out into a loud groan of pain. Peter rolls onto his side slightly, cradling his shoulder gently. The suit’s heaters, which had shorted out upon impacting the ground, kick back up with a flare of heat surging at his chest. It’s not pleasant on his newly busted ribs. A cool pack would have been a lot better, but with his spider’s inability to thermoregulate, it wouldn’t be safe anyways.

 

He does keep an ear out for more gunshots while he gathers his will to move. None follow. It takes a few minutes for Peter to sit upright again, abs protesting loudly. Peter tugs the mask up around the mouth and pokes lightly at his shoulder. Maybe not dislocated then, probably just really, _really_ bruised. It doesn’t matter. It hurts. Peter groans as he shakily pulls himself upright, careful to not jostle his ribs too much. He hasn’t had a punctured lung before, and he doesn’t particularly care to find out what one feels like. Peter groans; a hand subconsciously raised to his temple as if that would stop the headache, and arms shaky with a mixture of tiredness and pain.

 

He’s pretty sure the residents of the house heard him smacking the roof. It would be hard to miss. So he gives himself a once-over, frowning at the graze injury on his lower thigh — that was from the third bullet, probably — but taking back to the sky anyways. It’s only a small injury, despite the blood trailing down his leg. He only got _minorly_ gouged. He’s had so, so much worse. But in spite of being shot and nearly becoming a Spider-Pancake, he’s pretty happy with the results of the night’s patrol. Now he just needs to get back home…

 

He’s grateful for the suit’s heater as he swings through New York towards Queens. It’s really brisk out. He probably would have frozen in his old suit. He lifts his legs up as he dips at the lowest point of the web’s trajectory, and forces his muscles to pull his weight forward as he climbs higher into the open sky. Peter lets his spine arch as he lets go of one web at the peak of its swing, and takes the time to admire NYC from upside down. The world always seems to slow down when he’s like this, staring at the gold-amber hued skyline as the sunlight glints off of the glass-paned skyscrapers; limbs outstretched and reaching for nothing. The evening light catches on the distant Hudson river, glistening beautifully in a way that isn’t too intense for his eyes. It’s just pretty. Peter’s heart swells in his chest, and he sighs happily. The views he gets treated to as a hero are enough to make it worth it, just as they are. A lot of the aches and pains in his body are forced to the back of his mind as he spends those last few seconds high in the sky gazing upon his city.

 

As gravity gently takes hold of his body, Peter completes the flip so he’s heels-over-head and gets a web shooter primed for use — this manner of falling always gives him the highest momentum when swinging, even if it is pretty rough on his shoulders. He waits until he’s well below the highest buildings before launching the web line, wincing a little at the jarring of his shoulder, but riding it out anyway as he shoots over the top of low buildings. It doesn’t take much more for him to recognise the familiar buildings and layout of Queens.

 

He doesn’t slam into the wall of the apartment like he usually does when he’s tired, so that’s good. Crawling through the window is a pain in the ass though, because his ribs _really_ don’t want to be shifted and his limbs have gone all stiff from fatigue. He doesn’t even try to muffle how loudly he crashes to the floor, mumbling out half-curses and tired words as he attempts to remove the suit. His eyelids are so heavy and his hair is all over his face and the carpet’s no cushion, but at this point? It’ll do.

 

He’s happy that May knows about his being Spider-Man. After Homecoming when May had caught him in the suit, he had come clean, and while it had taken a few days for her to acclimate to the knowledge that he is Spider-Man… they had been better off for it. Peter doesn’t have to sneak around May anymore, and she hasn’t tried to stop him from going out on patrols as long as he comes back at curfew. There weren’t any more problems with it. So when May bursts into his room harriedly, he makes no more effort to move than tilting his head up to look at her.

“Peter-!”

“G’mornin’ May… or s’it good evenin’? Urgh…”

“Oh, you poor baby… you’re hurt. Okay, right- uh- can you stand? Let’s get you onto one of the couches.”

“Gimme a sec.” Peter works his arms so they’re underneath him and pushes up, coming to his feet unsteadily. He sways a little, but manages to trudge into the living area and flop gracelessly onto a sofa. The suit rubs against the bullet wound on his leg in a painful manner, so he swings it over the edge of the couch. He can hear May’s light tread as she walks into the kitchen, the sound of a drawer pulling open meeting his ears. Peter cracks an eye open groggily to watch as May comes over to him, first aid kit, ice and towels in hand, and moves his arms off his ribs.

“Karen, could you turn the heaters off?” He croaks. The warmth circulating around his body stops abruptly, and the towel-wrapped ice packs are gently placed on his ribs. He can tell she’s being careful to avoid accidentally decompressing the suit on him. He groans quietly in relief as the cold of the ice soothes his ribs — it’s a mixture of pleasant and uncomfortable as it counteracts the heat produced by his healing.

“Karen is such a nice lady… it’s amazing what technology can do, isn’t it?” Peter knows May’s words are to distract him as she prepares to clean the graze injury — this hasn't been the first time May's had to help fix a flesh wound since finding out about Spider-Man.

“Mmhm… She's super handy. Like a weird ghost sister.”

 _‘Thanks, Peter! I’m glad you like my programming so much.’_ Karen’s voice is warm, and for a few seconds, Peter forgets that she is an AI, not a real life person. The difference between Karen’s sisterly personality and FRIDAY’s sarcastic-best-friend vibes is astounding.

“S’not just your programming, Karen. It’s your AI personality. Ultra caring…”

_‘Thank you, Peter. I think you’re ultra caring too.’_

 

Peter hisses a little bit as May drags antiseptic wipes over the graze injury. Maybe it’s slightly deeper than he thought? He’s had pain a lot worse before, sure, but it’s also ridiculously uncomfortable. It burns. Peter squirms a little on the couch and reaches up, pulling the Spider-Man mask from his face. His hair falls unevenly over his eyes; normally he’d try to fix it, but he’s so _tired_ and really can’t be bothered. Groggily, Peter grabs at May’s free hand while she works on the injuries. She looks up at him with a soft smile, rubbing softly at his cheek.

“It was a rough night, then?” The words are spoken very quietly, like an exhale. Peter nods.

“Mm. Some whackjob crashed a bunch of cars.” He’s not even going to pretend like he knows what that was about. The slight increase of pressure on his leg tells him that May’s probably wrapping it with gauze now.

“You didn’t hurt your ribs in the middle of that, did you?” She sounds a little more urgent now. Peter sits up slightly, only to be pushed back down by the shoulders.

“Oh? No, definitely not. I kept-” he yawns, “-my distance. One of the guys shot my web down.”

May inhales sharply. “You fell? How far?”

“Not too far. Maybe twenty meters?” Peter says lazily.

“You poor baby… All done.” His cheeks flush warmly when May tucks his legs together and into a blanket.

“Thank you, May. Love you.” He’s rewarded with a kiss on the forehead. The little kid inside of him is very, _very_ happy right now. Everything just feels secure and safe — which doesn’t really happen anymore, given his new occupation.

“I love you too, Peter. You should really try to be more careful, baby. I know you’re a superhero, and you can take more punches than anyone else, but you’re still human. You can still get hurt.” And _there’s_ the guilt. It always upsets him when May gets upset about him getting injured. It’s not like he can control which days whoop his ass, but he still feels responsible for May’s sadness.

“I know, May. I’ll try a little better to avoid getting hit next time, okay?”

“Yeah, that’s all I can ask for, baby…”

 

Quiet sounds fill the apartment as May clicks on the TV. Peter can’t quite tell what is playing, but the distraction from the silence is nice, especially when May settles in next to him. He feels bad for taking up so much of the couch, but he’s two steps away from passing out and he aches too much to move.

Peter groans. “Mmf. My bones hurt.” They _do_. The pain has settled in deep, especially in his ribs, where the ice is only just taking the edge off.

“Tylenol time?”

“I’d burn through it straight away. I can’t take painkillers.” It sucks. He’s got to just bear with it as the burning pain slowly diminishes. It sucks, but everything else he can do just tips the scales in favour of being Spider-Man, so he’ll stick it out, just like he always does.

“We just have to wait it out?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a slight shifting. “Will a hug do anything for it?”

“Always.” May wraps her arms around him. It’s awkward, given the slushy ice bags and his reclined position, but he’s happy to reciprocate the action. Hugging May is the best, even more so when he’s hurt. It’s like comfort, care and warmth all rolled into one super-interaction.

 

He doesn’t know how long they spend on the couch watching lame movies. It feels like about an hour. It’s still crazy to him that he doesn’t have to hide the fact that he’s Spider-Man anymore. He never thought he’d be able to wear the suit in the living area and watch TV when May was at home. But here he is now, half asleep in the Spidey suit. He’s just starting to drift off when his stomach decided to pipe up with a growl. He groans lightly and shifts, but doesn’t actually make any movements to get up.

“You’re hungry.”

“N-no I’m not. I’m tired.”

“You need to eat, Peter.” There’s a sternness in May’s voice that he hasn’t heard in a while, but sleep is pulling him under too fast for him to do anything else.

“It’s fine, honestly. I’ll do it in a minute,” he raises a hand to his mouth as he yawns, “I promise. Just… gimme a sec…”

 

And he’s asleep within seconds.

 

May looks at Peter, half-covered in blankets and completely asleep. He looks so young, like this. Even in the Spider-Man suit, she can’t see him as anything other than her baby.

 

It had been… shocking, to say the least, to discover why Peter had been so skittish over the past few months, but not entirely surprising. She had been expecting some shady teenager thing, but to discover that her baby, her sweet, tiny _baby_ is _Spider-Man_? The same hero who has caught buses with his bare hands? Part of her wants to do more to keep Peter safe, but she knows he won’t let anybody get hurt when he can stop it. She is so, _so_ proud of him. There is so much pride in her for _her baby_ who has amazing super-powers, and chooses to use them helping everyone he can, even if it’s just in everyday activities. She pulls the blanket up to Peter’s chest, careful not to disturb the ice on his chest. Yes, she is so ridiculously proud of him that it’s like a garden has bloomed in her chest, but it doesn’t make it easy to see him hurt. She _knows_ it comes with the job, getting hurt. But Peter is so young and _should_ be so innocent. He’s not though. He’s scraped through pain May can only just fathom, and he’s fought tooth and nail to help other people, and he gets hurt for it. Bruises, cuts, broken bones and sprains. She can treat them all, but it doesn’t make it any easier to have to patch Peter up whenever he gets hurt (a lot). It breaks her heart to have to listen to him muffling small noises of pain.

 

She kisses Peter’s forehead. She doesn’t want to wake Peter up, but he needs to eat before he turns in properly. She’s seen the effect not eating has had on Peter. Hearing about how his metabolism is what made him pass out that one time had been _horrifying_.

 

It takes all of about fifteen minutes to make a mish-mash meal to satisfy Peter’s super-appetite. It takes a further five minutes just to rouse Peter into wakefulness. He comes to blearily, pupils dilated just a little oddly. May winces. Concussion, then. It’s probably well on its way to healing, but she’ll keep an eye on that.

 

The smell of food wakes his appetite up before he does. Peter stays bleary, even as May pulls the very melted ice bags off his chest and pulls his limp body upright. He’s _exhausted_.

“-I’ve seen how fast you heal, and I know you need loads of food to do it. So eat up.” Peter blinks. Right, food. Wait, May cooked for him? He really has to stop falling asleep when he wants to do things.

“I can’t eat all of this.” He groans. He wants to, really. But he wants to sleep more.

“I know that you can, Peter, you just don’t want to take too much. We have the money now, and I’m not having you pass out mid battle.” Peter blinks forcefully in an attempt to wake himself up more. May has a point. And eating will make his injuries heal faster.

“Okay, Aunt May.”

 

All his senses have dulled under his tiredness. The food tastes good, yeah, but it all seems very far away. As soon as he’s finished eating everything May pushes over to him, he’s flopping back down into the cushions of the sofa. His stomach lurches uncomfortably, but he doesn’t move. It’s like there’s something physically pulling down on his eyelids. The bruises on his face throb angrily. His ribs aren’t complaining as much as they did an hour ago, but that’s probably because he’s eaten and rested. Those more severe injuries are probably on their way to being healed up completely. Still.

 

May shuffles in next to him. Her movements are slow and deliberate, probably to not disturb him. Peter pushes himself upwards a little, letting himself move back down after May is sat down. His head is on her lap, and her hands are playing loosely with his curls. Peter tiredly lifts a hand up to grab May’s. It’s a few minutes before she speaks again.

“Those web-thingies are pretty cool. Stark make those for you too?” She’s fiddling with his web-shooters, delicate fingers prying at the technological marvel. He doesn’t bother to stop her. He’s way past trying to move.

“Nope. Well, actually, he made _these_ ones. I made the first model myself. I can show you my old ones later, if you want?”

“I’d love to. You know I’m so proud of you, my smart little man… making his own technology.”

“Mmm… Love you, May.”

“Love you too, baby.” It goes quiet for a while. Peter’s hearing picks up in that way it does when his eyes have been closed for a while and he’s getting close to sleep.

“I can officially say my baby boy is the most special. I got a smart, spider-powered baby.”

“Aw, May… thanks…” There’s a gentle prodding at his sides, a gentle attempt to play at a tickle fight, but Peter’s too far gone to even respond.

 

* * *

 

His hearing picks up a faint ringing from Karen after the first time it goes off. He's been asleep for a while, it seems, but not long enough. Groggily, he picks up the mask and slides it on. The display lights up, although dimmed to a considerable level, and he skims through the short, clipped text on the messages.

 

_T. Stark: Bleecker Street, 30 mins. We need your help._

 

And that has him alert within seconds. The display tells him that it’s only 4 A.M, which is torturous in itself to read because he’s only had 3 hours sleep, but he gently shifts himself from May. He can move a lot more fluidly now he’s rested a little, and while his shoulder still aches, his ribs feel nearly completely healed. Maybe. If he struggles a little with the flexibility it takes to extract himself from May’s grasp, well… he’s lucky she’s still asleep.

 

He stumbles a little.

 

“Mmm…? Peter? Baby, where are you going? Your ribs…” Peter winces. He didn’t want to wake up May.

“They feel fine, May. And the Avengers need my help. More bad guys in downtown NYC. Gotta help out, y’know?” He does feel better. Mostly. But Tony wouldn’t have come to him unless it were strictly necessary. He has to help out.

“It’s so early… Can’t they handle this alone?”

“Mr. Stark wouldn’t have called me out if it wasn’t necessary. I’ll take care of myself, promise.”

“Okay, baby. You message me when you’ve finished up, okay? And if you get hurt, let Stark take you to the compound for fixing. They can do more for you than I can.”

“Okay, May. I love you.”

“Love you too, baby.” Peter pulls the blanket up to cover May before he pulls the Spider-Man mask on fully. The display light returns to a higher brightness as he slides open his bedroom window and crawls out, using his fingers to slide it shut afterwards. He crawls up the wall to the roof, where he flops down ungracefully. The gauze on his leg is exposed, a stark and obvious stand-out against the blue of the suit.

“Karen, could you help me out?”

_‘Sure thing, Peter. What would you like me to do?’_

“Is there a- a web shooter combination for bandages? Like, compression bandages?”

_‘Just searching… Web shooter combination number 342: Bandage web. Will this work?’_

“Yep! Thanks, Karen.”

_‘No problem! Glad to help.’_

“You’re the best…” Peter slowly lets the web, wide and thin, extend from the web shooters. Once it’s at a good enough length, he cuts it off and carefully winds it around the gauze. It’s a tight fit, and it’ll be a pain to get off the suit in the end, but it’s better than leaving it exposed. Peter hops around the roof to make sure it won’t come loose before bounding up to the ledge and over it.

 

Free falling is always exhilarating, no matter the height he’s falling from. Adrenaline wakes up his tired senses as he shoots a web line onto a building nearby and _pulls_. He nearly hits a few startled pigeons in his sloppiness. It’s a little uncomfortable on his newly healed shoulder, and bordering on a painful stretch at his ribs. Maybe they haven’t healed as well as he thought…

“Karen, where’s Bleecker Street? I… I probably shoulda checked before I left…”

_‘That’s fine, Peter. Activating holographic interface.’_

“Wait, holographic interface?” A route lights up on the street, multiple different ways of getting to Bleecker Street highlighted. Peter’s almost giddy, “That is _awesome_.” He takes the fastest option, and arrives in about ten minutes. Now he has about fifteen minutes to wait, which should be fine.

 

As soon as he gets to the road — completely deserted, by the way, which is completely unnatural for somewhere in _New York_. They must have evacuated the place — he sees some of the Avengers waiting on the street. They don't look pleased, stood outside some huge building with a fancy, patterned window at the top.

 

Peter drops from his web silently, wincing at the ache in his ribs. He doesn't like how dull his senses are, probably because of his tiredness. It's like missing something. He groans as he approaches the group. He's happy to be there, but he's pissed that his nap got cut short.

Peter yawns as he says “You owe me like, seven naps. And ice cream. A lot of ice cream. Eight naps.”

On hearing that, Tony turns around to face him. The armour isn't on yet, Peter notices. He doesn't know where it is. He thinks he might be able to hear the humming of mechanical parts somewhere nearby, but he can't pinpoint anything.

“Nice to see you too, kid. I’m surprised you even turned up.”

“Ugh, well it’s not like I couldn’t. I can’t not show up after seeing that.” _When bad things happen, and you didn't do anything… that's on you._ He said something like that to Tony, right? Surely he understands.

“I meant I was surprised you were even awake. It’s 4 in the morning.” Peter can feel Tony looking at him, maybe a little concerned. He supposes most teens aren't up at this time.

“I’m very, very aware of that-” Peter yawns loudly. He takes to jumping up and down to keep the blood circulating around his body, “-and I resent that. Thank god I don’t have anywhere to be tomorrow.”

“Yeah, well at least you get to sleep in after this.”

“Gon’ sleep forever. Seriously. First patrol, then this?” Peter scrubs a hand down his face. It’s hardly effective, given the mask covering him.

“Patrol?” Peter jumps, “Have you slept at all tonight?” And _there’s_ the worry in Tony’s voice. Peter has to bite back the response of ‘ _I’m fine, dad_ ’ because he can’t ruin things with Mr. Stark.

“No? Yes? Maybe? I think I might have been falling asleep when I crashed into those pigeons. Flying rats… It’s not that hard to see me swinging around. They’re just mean.”

 

He really, really wishes he got more sleep. He hates it when he rambles, especially in front of Mr. Stark. And… Captain America? The Falcon? The Black Widow and Hawkeye? Peter shifts around awkwardly.

“W-wait, we’re not fighting again, are we?” He hears a few snorts, and puts a hand over his heart when he sees Black Widow shaking her head.

 

“Nope, and you’re getting those naps, kid. You’re basically dead on your feet.”

“Mm. Wait ‘til I get adrenaline. Sweet, sweet adrenaline. Wakefulness shall be mine.”

“God, you’re like a carbon copy of Stark, Spidey.” The Falcon sounds amused as he checks up on his wingsuit, sharp eyes searching for any misplaced wiring before swinging the pack back over his shoulders and securing it. Peter tries to shake the memory of being pulled out of a window by Falcon’s… machine.

“‘m a what now? God, I want to sleep.”

“Same, kid. Same.” Peter sits down on the street as everyone does their thing. He could almost fall asleep, if it weren’t for his senses starting to pressure the back of his skull.

 

“What we even doing here?” The question’s been nagging for a while now. Captain America looks at him oddly before speaking,

“A secure and protect mission. We got intel from someone that some HYDRA agents were going to attack this building for artefacts.”

“Why’d they come here? Museums have plenty of artefacts.”

This time it’s Mr. Stark who responds. “These ones are… ugh, _‘magical’_.” Peter’s brain slams to a halt.

“Magic? As in, _you’re a wizard, Harry_ magic?”

“Apparently. And please, stop with the pop-culture references.”

“Nah.”

 

Peter stays down on the floor while the rest of the Avengers prepare themselves. He checks the canisters of web fluid in the shooters. Satisfied, he rests his arms back against the floor. The cold of the night is just a little too brisk, so he knows he’ll have to keep himself moving. He really, _really_ doesn’t want to get hypothermia. _Again_. He catches the faint glint of red in the corner of his eyes, so he looks over to see the famous shield on Captain America’s arm. The claw marks from the airport are gone.

“Sorry for stealing ya shield that time.” He blurts. The Captain looks at him, amused, before gazing at the shield.

“That’s fine. Sorry for dropping sixty-five tons on you.” Peter snorts. That had been an _Experience_. Capital ‘E’ and all.

“Wasn’t sixty-five… and that’s cool. It’s technically a brag. ‘ _I survived getting punched by Captain America_ ’.” Ned had been so excited to hear Peter’s stories about the airport battle. “New paint job there?”

“Yeah.” The Captain looks up, suddenly too serious. Peter shrinks back, “That reminds me- Thank you, Tony. I don’t deserve this.” Peter looks up again, confused.

“Damn straight you don’t. Just be glad the government are willing to give you some breathing room, with Zemo and that. How’s Barnes?”

 

He is very, _very_ confused.

 

“In cryo again.” Cryo? Barnes? Peter looks around incredulously.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Tony, I really am sorry.”

“I know. I’m working on it. Still super pissed that you didn’t tell me your popsicle boyfriend did… _that_. Dick move.” _Popsicle boyfriend_?!

“I know.” The Captain sounds pretty defeated right about now.

“Am I the only one who is _super_ confused right now? How long was I out?” His voice rises an octave as he asks the question, still lying on the floor.

“This was after I sent you back to the compound with Happy, kid. Don’t give yourself gray hairs over it.”

Peter waves a hand lazily. “Yeah, I won’t.”

 

The fire-up of an engine gets his attention, fast. He stands up as the Falcon takes Hawkeye up to a nearby rooftop and assumes an aerial position himself among the buildings. Mr. Stark and the Black Widow hide themselves in dark alleys — he sees gold and red piecing itself over Tony’s arms — and Captain America stays in the open. Peter shoots a web and sticks himself to the side of a building, listening out keenly.

 

He is so, so excited. The only thing better than fighting the Avengers is fighting _with_ the Avengers. He’s aware of how lucky he is to be in such a position, and he silently thanks Mr. Stark for involving him in Germany, because now he gets to fight with the likes of the _Avengers_ when he’s only been Spider-Man for nearly a year. Peter is buzzing with excitement on the office building. He has to take breaths to keep himself calm.

 

Something, relatively far away and hushed, catches his attention. Multiple somethings. Maybe stealth crafts? Peter fumbles before Karen activates the comms, clearing his throat a little.

“Just heard something- well, a coupla somethings, maybe about a kilometer away? Sounded like they were trying to be stealthy. Just thought you guys would wanna know.”

There’s a crackle, then: “That would be them. Good work, kid.”

Peter beams. “No prob. What do we do?”

“We wait, for now. As soon as they show themselves up, we go in.”

“Ok. Cool.” He nods to himself, swinging his arms around slightly to keep them loose. The complete absence of movement in the streets is slightly unnerving, especially as he’s used to working in bustling areas with loads of input. The silence? He doesn’t like it.

“Just got aerial on the place. Kid’s right, we got three small stealth crafts. People approaching on your 6 o’clock, Steve.” Falcon’s voice through the comm is reassuring, the deep tone carrying easily. Peter leans off the building so he’s horizontal to the ground, facing straight down. He doesn’t move the whole time, even as the people start to come into view.

 

Then it all bursts into action. HYDRA agents fire painful-looking blasts at the Captain, who blocks them easily with the shield. Peter is entranced, in a state of awe, especially as Mr. Stark swoops in with repulsor blasts and arrows start to rain from above. The child in him, the same child who watched brave coverage from reporters during the Battle of New York all those years ago, is frozen to the spot as he watches his heroes fighting. He watches the Falcon swoop in and tackle soldiers, gazes in awe as Black Widow executes flawless backflips and moves similar to, but more advanced, than what he can do. The Avengers are all fighting at their best, and the Captain is smacking patriotism into those guys-

 

“Smacking patriotism into them, huh?”

 

_He spoke out loud._

 

“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry-!” Peter swings down from the building and webs one of them to the floor, carefully blocking punches and kicks with ease. He would punch back, but he can catch buses by himself and a punch from him in this state could kill them. He still can’t control his strength a lot of the time. He sticks to his webs as he helps to fight off the pretty huge amount of people swarming the Captain.

“If these artefacts are so important, where’s the people protecting them?!” Peter swings below the blast his Spidey-sense is screaming about, completing the motion with a graceful flip and landing upright. The exhaustion is really starting to weigh him down. It’s making his response time and reflexes sloppy. Hell, it’s a miracle he hasn’t gotten shot yet. Peter sighs. He’s so off his game.

“I dunno. Some kind of wizard. Said he had to stop an interdimensional threat, and the Sanctum was likely to get attacked while he was gone.” Peter absorbs the information as he leaps over a soldier, web-grenading them to the floor. He brushes himself off. The warmth of a nearby blast crackles past his skin and he jumps back.

“W-wait, a wizard? Are you serious?”

Mr. Stark sighs. “Regrettably, yes.”

“Oh man, that’s awesome. _Magic_. Nice.” A bullet (an actual, lead bullet) gets close before his Spidey-sense can respond and punches another graze straight through his leg. Peter stumbles with a yell and takes to his webs again. There are people asking if he’s okay through the comm, but he’s too focused on not crying to respond.

 

Fighting when exhausted is exhausting. Peter has to pull back further as they fight, webbing people up from a distance. His eyes can hardly focus enough to watch each movement as it happens, so instead of getting himself killed he takes to web-slinging. Besides, they’re winning. The Avengers don’t really need his help to finish this up, do they? A rooftop stands out clearly to his tired eyes, so he makes his way over to it so he can bandage it up again.

 

Or, he tries.

 

His Spidey-sense screams right as he draws over the roof, and a blue-tinged blast rockets over his head. He looks up, dread surging in his stomach as he watches the web fraying away.

 

It snaps, and for the second time that day he finds himself plummeting towards the ground.

 

He hits the rooftop, _hard_. He’s painfully aware of his ribs as he smacks into the ground, the groaning and snapping forcing a choked noise out of him. The pain doesn’t stop, no matter how much he wishes it would. He can feel himself panting distantly, wheezing for breaths when his chest can’t move properly. His fingers dig into the gravelled rooftop, desperate to find purchase. There is none. He can feel odd little noises coming from him, like a mixture of a whine and a cry. Peter grits his teeth, eyes screwed shut as silent tears escape him.

 

Time goes funny. There’s a high pitched noise in his ears that drowns out everything else for a while. Everything is fuzzy and abstract as he lies on the rooftop, arms clutching at his chest as if it could stop the pain. Voices, drowned out and garbled voices, come through the comms, so Peter forces himself to take in deeper, gasping breaths despite how wrong it feels on his ribs.

 

“Spider-Man! Can you respond?!” The frantic voice coming through the comms sounds a lot like Mr. Stark, so Peter makes a valiant effort to push past the suffocating pain in his ribcage to speak into the comms. He’s gasping, eyes wide, and grasping for something to pull himself upright. He flops back down onto the gravel, wheezing.

“Kid?! Can you hear me?!”

 

The thing about that is, he’s not been getting enough oxygen. Everything seems funny as he looks around, the battle raging on the streets below the rooftop, and he can’t help the breathless laugh that escapes him. Oxygen deprivation sucks. Majorly.

“I… drank too much bone hurting juice. Ow, my bones…”

 

 _I hear you_. That’s what he meant to say. But hey, late night meme time with Ned was bound to exact vengeance on him at some point. And if his confirmation of being alive happened to be a meme, well… it still did its job. They know he’s alive. And his bones _do_ hurt, so it’s not all bad.

 

“What does that- what’s that meant to mean? Bone hurting juice?”

He wheezes. “Ow…”

“Shit, hold on. I’m on my way.” Peter continues choking for breaths that aren’t big enough. He hates crying, but it feels like it’s all he can do in that time. He wants to speak, to try and tell those pleading voices what’s happened to him, but he just _can’t_ and it is so, _so_ frustrating to be unable to breathe. His eyesight is going whacky, little black dots swallowing up his peripheral vision.

 

The lack of oxygen must be getting to him, because when the familiar suit of armour drops down next to him, the three hazy forms all swim around. Peter reaches up shakily, but his arm stops listening and drops back down beside him. C’mon, what’s the point in a healing factor when it isn’t _working_ yet…?

 

“FRIDAY, full scan please.” The world is starting to go fuzzy around the edges as he struggles to suck in each breath. Peter reaches up for Tony, desperately reaching up again to the Iron Man suit. Mr. Stark can help him, right? Mr. Stark is smart. He can help Peter breathe again. He can help. He’ll help.

“H-hel-” Mr. Stark is talking, probably to FRIDAY, but it doesn’t stop some weak surge of pain in his chest. He isn’t listening to Peter.

“...about his ribs- shit, completely busted? What about that concuss…” Sound is coming in and out, but he still makes an attempt to wheeze out something intelligible.

“Wha’s’a’ppenin’?” This time, Mr. Stark looks down at him with an unreadable expression on his face. Peter tenses a little. He didn’t mean to screw up the mission…

“You got hurt, kid. Hold on, we can take care of this-”

He shakes his head. “I need t’help. I- ow, ow-” Turns out, trying to sit upright is a bad idea with snapped ribs. Tony’s hands, still covered by the armour, come down to push his shoulders to the rooftop. It’s too similar to earlier on, with May, so he goes down easily.

“...okay, okay, kid you have to stay down. You’ll hurt yourself even more. You guys can take care of this…”

Peter tilts his head back, teeth gritted. “Hurts.”

“... no, I can’t help finish the fight. If I help you, the kid will suffocate because his ribs are completely busted and he can’t breathe.”

“Breathe?”

“Yeah, kid. Try to breathe.” He tries to copy Mr. Stark’s exaggerated breaths, but his ribs aren’t having it.

“Tryin’. Can’t.”

“Hold on kid, let’s get you to the comp…” His hearing shorts out, and this time, Peter can’t find it in himself to care.

“Mmm. Hurts. Tired.”

“Whoa, hey, stay awake, eyes open-”

“Wha?”

“-not breathing properly, have Bruce ready at the compound with a med team-” Tony’s arms are moving underneath him, worming him up into a bridal carry. Peter wants to resist it and show that he isn’t weak, but there isn’t enough energy left in him to keep his eyes open.

“M’fine.” He isn’t. Not at the minute. Maybe in a few hours, but not now. He can hear air whooshing around them and a sudden burst of coldness, so he knows Mr. Stark is airborne.

“You’re an idiot. No, not you Bruce, Peter. See, kid, even Bruce says you shouldn’t talk right now. Listen to him, he knows what he’s doing-”

Peter blinks oddly. Those dots from earlier on are swarming his vision completely. “S’gone dark…”

“Oh shit. Bruce, he should still be able to see things, right? No? Motherfucker. What- yes, okay Steve, I apologise for my terrible use of a bad language word. Wait, how long has the group comm been open? I thought this was a private between me and Bruce. Okay, so you still don’t know the kid’s name? Thank god. He would’ve killed me if you had been listening in just a few seconds befo…” He zones out, listening to but not entirely comprehending what’s being said.

“Scared.”

”Oh kid, don’t… Sorry guys, gotta turn off again. See you at the compound. Hey hey hey, look at me. Eyes on me. Don’t go to sleep, Pete-” A hand is at the side of his face, keeping his head from lolling around. He blinks slowly.

He _does_ feel bad for having to rest. Mr. Stark is probably terrified. “... sorry.”

“Crap, crap! I damn well deserve a chance to- I dunno- shit. Peter!” Peter lets go of consciousness.

 

“He’s gone unconscious. What-? Is there a difference, Bruce? He’s unresponsive, that’s what matters…”

 

“...yes, he’s still breathing. Barely. It’s pretty shallow, his chest isn’t expanding properly…”

 

“Okay, but is this really…? Oh, thank god. Bruce!”

 

“Yeah, that doesn’t look so good. Let’s get him inside.”

 

More sensations are returning to him now. The wind across his face. Ruffling his hair. The words that are being spoken have become a lot easier to understand. Unfortunately, what comes with being awake enough to understand is the pain radiating from his chest. It takes a lot to not cry. But he can feel it healing, bones shifting back into their normal places slowly and disgustingly, so it’s fine. He only has to tough it out a little longer. Thank god he ate so much before getting called in. He’ll have to thank May for her insistence on his eating. He makes a noise at the vibrations running through him — Mr. Stark has to be running for that. Everything is still hazy and really abstract, so Peter lets himself drift again.

 

“Will he be okay?” He’s never heard Mr. Stark sound so concerned for him before. He’s being moved onto a bed, probably in the medical wing like Tony said, if the sudden, plush surface below him is anything to go by. He relaxes slightly.

“We’ll have to run scans, but… Tony, it’s nowhere near as bad as you were saying. His ribs are pretty badly cracked, yeah, but they’re not fragmented like you said. The bruising is bad, but it’s not as severe as it should have been if the damage was that bad.”

“What? No, that’s not right. He wasn’t breathing. Bruce, Peter was suffocating when I got to him. There was blood in his mouth.”

“Can you show me FRIDAY’s previous scans? This isn’t adding up.”

 

There’s a few minutes of silence after that, and Peter can imagine that Bruce and Tony are pouring over his scans. They don’t matter though, because his ribcage feels more together. It still hurts like a bitch, but they’re on their way to healing well already.

 

“Look. His ribs were… they were hardly even a ribcage. He was a mess.” Mr. Stark’s voice is hushed, upset. If he could, he would have tried to reassure the man.

“Yeah, but look at the newest scans. They’re all back in place. Looking a bit closer, you can see thin fracture lines where the breaks were, but they’re fixing up really fast. It’s _amazing_.”

“So, a healing factor?”

“A hell of a healing factor.” Bruce sounds almost awed.

“It still doesn’t make sense though. He’s recovering faster than _Steve_ would have, and we both know Steve’s healing factor is nuts.” In contrast, Mr. Stark sounds almost disbelieving. Peter doesn’t know much about the Captain’s healing factor, but to know his is better… it’s weird.

“Maybe it’s because of the nature of his abilities. You know, how they relate to him.”

“How’d you mean?” A hand takes Peter’s and rubs lightly into his palm. It’s soothing, and a final bit of tension that he didn’t even realise he had in his shoulders unwinds.

“Well, Steve’s… Steve’s abilities are an _enhancement_. Steve’s abilities are because of his exposure to the serum, and his bone marrow taking it in and constantly producing it in his red and white blood cells, which deliver it to the rest of his body. The serum is the source of Steve’s abilities, so he classifies as an enhanced.” Peter finds himself listening in to Bruce’s rambling. It’s interesting to hear his own weird biology being explained by someone who knows more about these things.

“So does Peter.”

“No, Peter isn’t enhanced, as such. His abilities don’t come from anything. Peter’s abilities are present at the _genetic_ level. His cells don’t have to use a serum or anything to heal themselves, they just need energy. Steve would have to use the serum in his blood to heal, and while it gets replenished constantly, his healing is dependant on his cells containing the serum, so as soon as a cell’s serum level is depleted, Steve will heal slower. Peter’s cells don’t work like that. They just heal.” _Huh_.

“So… Peter heals faster because of his genetics?”

“A gross oversimplification, but yes. Peter only needs energy for his body to heal from these injuries, because his genes tell his cells to put themselves back together a whole lot faster and more efficiently than a regular person’s does. In fact, his healing factor is closer to those found in mutants compared to those found in enhanced beings.” Yeah, that makes sense.

“We should really make a classification system for these things, it would make these things a lot simpler… At least he’s healing. Anything we can do to help it along?” If Peter focuses, he can get his fingers to twitch a little. That’s good. It means he didn’t smack the ability to move out of himself.

“Nope. His cells are doing all the work for us. Painkillers wouldn’t go amiss though, and setting his ribs might help them heal properly.” _Yes_ , painkillers would be great. If they have anything that might work on him, he’d take it. Not that they know that. He’s still supposed to be out of it.

“Definitely. You got any meds that would work on him?”

“Hopefully the same heavy-duty stuff that works on Steve, just at a high dose.”

“Jeez. That would-”

“Kill anyone else.”

“Gotta love having a superpowered, super resistant to drugs teenager, right?”

“Not really. We really need to make a more effective painkiller for him.”

“Yeah… I hate it when he’s like this.” Peter suddenly feels like he’s intruding, or he isn’t meant to hear this. It’s gotten too personal. It’s rare to hear Mr. Stark being serious about something, even more so to hear him sounding… dare he say it, emotional. Peter doesn’t blame him, but still, it’s a surprise to hear that he  _really_ cares.

“Hey. He’ll pull through. Put in the drip first, then we’ll wrap his ribs.” There’s a little pinch in the crook of his elbow and the feeling of tape securing it. He could have sighed in relief as the drugs cloud his brain, blocking out the steady aching in his ribs. He drifts as Bruce gently prods at his ribs, and dozes as they get wrapped.

 

He spends about half an hour under before coming back up. Thinking is easier now he can breathe, so it’s easier to recognise his surroundings. He’s at the upstate compound in the medical wing, chilling out in a bed. It’s better than it was.

“That was… easy, huh?” Peter snaps to attention. He doesn’t open his eyes though.

“Tony, you don’t need to try to lighten the mood. I know you’re upset he’s hurt.” _Oh_ , this. Okay.

“Yeah… He’s just a kid. I don’t like seeing him like this.”

“Nobody wants to see anyone like this, no. But I can understand why it’s worse for you. You two seem pretty close.”

“Yeah. Damn kid’s like a puppy. You can’t _not_ want to protect him.” He’s pretty giddy about that, actually. It’s one thing to actually get to spend time with Mr. Stark, it’s another thing entirely to know that _Tony Stark_ wants to protect _him_.

 

He tries to blink his eyes open. He knows that his expression just tightened, but his eyes aren’t open. The hand holding his freezes with the rubbing motions, and the end of the bed shifts slightly.

“Peter, can you hear me? Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.”

 

It takes a long while to fight through the lethargic haze that’s clouding his body, but Peter does manage to move his fingers slightly. The action is pretty exhausting, but what else is new?

“He twitched. I think he’s on his way back up.” And on his way back up he definitely is.

Peter opens his eyes tiredly. “Ugh. Ow.” It takes a few seconds for everything to focus again; bright lights briefly blinding him. He tilts his head to the side. Mr. Stark is there, looking concerned — _actually_ concerned, with tired bags under his eyes.

“Morning, sunshine.” Peter can hear Bruce shuffling around in the room, but doesn’t move to look for him.

Peter winces. “End me. God, my _ribs_.”

“Yep. You scared the shit out of me, kid.” _Me_ , not us. Jeez, he really must have scared Mr. Stark for him to be like this… He’s a little out of his element, here.

“Keeping you on your toes. And remind me to never, ever do whatever I did again.”

“Ah, he lives, sarcasm and all.” Tony ruffles his hair absently. Peter awkwardly lets him, “Welcome back to the land of the living, kid.”

“Consider me welcomed.” He smiles lopsidedly as he catches Tony’s huff of laughter. Peter looks across as Bruce moves into his line of vision and offers a little wave. He gets one back.

"Mr. Parker." Bruce fixes his glasses a little and looks over Peter clinically. Peter, however, is a little distracted because this is  _Bruce Banner_ standing right in front of him.

"Mr. Banner! Oh man, this is awesome. Just gonna say it — I've read like, all your papers on gamma radiation and the effect of radiation on biology, and lemme just say you're awesome. Seriously."

Banner looks at him with a slightly surprised expression. "You understood that?"

"Uh huh! Some of the key principles in those papers are things we look at in Chemistry sometimes. Oh, this is such a brag. Ned'll never believe me."

Bruce laughs, maybe a little flustered. Mr. Stark just looks amused. "That's nice to know. Now, how are you feeling?"

"Like I'm high on really, _really_ good drugs. _Nice_."

"Asides from high, then. Any difficulties breathing? Residual pain?"

He thinks about it. "Nope and nope."

"Well, I want to keep you in for observation tonight, but given how quickly you've healed, you should be free to go by tomorrow. Your healing factor is  _amazing_." Peter beams.

“Yeah, about that. You didn’t tell me you healed freaky fast.” Tony doesn't sound too pleased. After going through _that_ , he has the right to be pissed.

“I thought that was obvious. I mean, I patrol every night and only look like I’ve fought a wall occasionally, so…”  _Snark isn't going to help here, Parker._

“Yeah, but you didn’t tell me it was ‘ _oh look, I can bounce back from being half-dead in five hours’_ good. Seriously, your rib cage was in pieces and you’re just sat here now, sassing me like you weren’t suffocating in my arms.”

Peter winces, “Sorry.” _5 hours?_

Tony sighs. “Don’t apologise, kid. It’s not like you asked to get shot out of the sky.”  _Twice,_ he wants to say,  _It was twice_. But he doesn't want to make anyone feel guilty by knowing he came along injured, so he keeps quiet.

“Yeah. That was an experience that I never want to repeat. But how did the mission go?”

“The artefacts are secure. The HYDRA soldiers have been taken in, and collateral damage was minimal to none. All in all, good mission.”

“Okay. Okay, that’s good.” Peter yawns, a tired hand over his mouth. God, he's had such a long day. Or night. Whichever one it is now.

"It's early o'clock in the hellscape, kid. Get some sleep." Tony ruffles his hair, slightly more affectionate than last time, and sits down in the chair next to his bed.

"Press the call button if you need anything, Peter. Nobody will mind helping you out." Bruce is just about out the door now, so Peter won't hold him for any longer.

"Okay, Mr. Banner. Night." He closes his eyes.

 

Mr. Stark doesn't move from his bedside, even as FRIDAY dims the lights. Peter tilts his head to look at him.

"Mr. Stark? Aren't you gonna... I dunno, go to sleep?"

"I am. I'm staying here though." Should he be confused or honoured?

"Why? That can't be comfortable."

"Making sure you don't do anything stupid when you should be sleeping, for one. For two, I'm making sure you don't need anything." Peter blinks up at the ceiling. 

"O-oh. Okay. Thank you."

"No problem, kid. Now go get your eight naps."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I included an actual meme in this fic. Yes, Peter and Ned send each other crappy memes when they're bored. Yes, I referenced Deadpool doing his Merc thing at the beginning of the story and Doctor Strange's Sanctum during the fight. I'm full of references today, apparently.
> 
> If you got any ideas for the next five chapters, send them in! And if you have a prompt or a fic idea you want written, send it to me on my Tumblr under spiderboyneedsahug!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Leave some comments, tell me how I did if you want to!
> 
> If you want me to write anything specific in the future, leave it in the comments! I've seen most MCU movies, so bring it on :D


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